


When A Home Is A Menagerie

by gala_apples



Category: Bandom, Cobra Starship, Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance, Panic At The Disco
Genre: Dubious Consent, Homophobia, M/M, offensive atheists
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-10
Updated: 2011-12-10
Packaged: 2017-10-27 03:57:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 28,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/291381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gala_apples/pseuds/gala_apples
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the Uries don’t like Brendon’s performance at private school, they send him to a public school with lower expectations for senior year. What they’re not aware of is the mandatory community service credit Irving has for all seniors. Brendon decides not to tell them, instead taking the rare opportunity to finally make a decision of his own. Paws And Claws pet store might not be church affiliated, but what could be sinful about animals?</p><p>Brendon never had a large group of friends at Pine Crest. Or any friends, really. Alex Suarez isn’t particularly modest or pious, but he’s funny, and nice, and that’s more than Brendon’s ever had before. The other student at the pet store is harder to forgive. He looks highly alternative, and obviously smokes and has premarital sex.</p><p>With the sudden arrival of Mikey’s boyfriend over winter vacation, Brendon finds himself attracted, and terrified of that attraction. He heartily attempts to avoid awkward truths before finally giving in to his true nature, an act which costs him his church and family. But if there’s one lesson he’s learned senior year, it’s there is more than one way to live your life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When A Home Is A Menagerie

**Author's Note:**

> This fic may have inaccuracies due to the author heavily researching but not actually being Mormon.
> 
> Written for 2011 20k BBB. The masterpost [here](http://gala-apples.livejournal.com/302651.html) links to art and mix.

There are seven people in the Urie household, and following Dad’s rules, 49 Greenheld will stay like that until the youngest is capable of fending for himself. Knowing he’s what’s holding his siblings back, Brendon is looking forward to graduating. Not just for their sakes, though that guilt is often floating around the back of his head. It’s also for selfish reasons; any university dorm is bound to have more privacy and quiet than Dad’s no locked doors policy. Of course, future privacy is all based on the ability to graduate, something that isn’t as certain was it once was. It’s impossible to know what Irving is going to be like, if things will compound into him being the first Urie dropout.

Each person has their own theory about why Brendon has to switch schools for senior year. That’s what happens, it’s what’s happened as long as Brendon can remember. Six solid opinions, data to back each, before they all cede to Dad.

There are the official reasons; told to Brendon two nights ago when they sat him down on the living room couch and explained he would no longer be going to Pine Crest. Dad said there were zoning issues. Even if he doesn’t dare accuse his father of such an act, Brendon’s pretty sure that’s a lie. As far as he knows private schools don’t follow the same district rules public schools do, so even if the districts had changed it shouldn’t have affected him. Mom, working along side Dad in the conversation as was her duty, added that it was a good thing as Pine Crest was very expensive. Brendon really hopes that’s not the reason. It would be unfair if Matt and Mason and Kara and Valerie all got a full private school education and he didn’t, like he wasn’t worth the money.

Then there are the opinions of the gallery. Brendon listens to them because he’s spent his entire life listening to his siblings. You don’t get far as a youngest sibling without learning how to listen and pretend you agree, even if you don’t. It’s not lying if you don’t vocally agree, just let them draw their own conclusions.

Matt says it’s because senior year gets wild and they don’t want that for him, insinuating as always that his ties to the Lord and moral behaviour aren’t are strong as they should be. Brendon doesn’t point out he doesn’t have any friends to be pressured into partying with.

That’s what Kara thinks is the problem; that they switched him to stop the bullying. Which is dumb because he’s not technically bullied, the students just don’t like him. It’s likely no one is going to like him at the new school either, people tend not to. So what’s the point of switching the location when the results will be the same? She thinks the fact that Kevin from church goes to Irving will change everything, that he’ll have a guaranteed friend. Considering Kevin barely talks to him at church, Brendon’s pretty sure it won’t change much.

Mason says it’s because he’s not getting straight A’s. Mason was always the one with the best grades, a path he firmly set for the other four to follow. His opinion is that if they send Brendon to a school that doesn’t demand as much academically, his grades will rise even if his intelligence doesn’t. Brendon can see that working. He’s never really talked to teachers in great length, but he knows about grading on a curve, and at Pine Crest he’s probably at the bottom of that curve.

Valerie thinks it’s not as much level of intelligence, just that he’s mentally handicapped in general. ADHD is a strong label, and Pine Crest doesn’t want any diagnosed students. Or at least students that aren’t buried under a mountain of medication. If Valerie’s right that’s discrimination. Discrimination means his parents could have fought it, but didn’t.

Brendon doesn’t know what to think. He doesn’t really want any of them to be right, except maybe Kara, everyone else puts the blame on him. But in the end it doesn’t matter anyway. Everyone’s opinion of the reason for his transferring doesn’t change the fact that he _is_ transferring.

Before he can walk into Irving he has to officially resign from Pine Crest. Mom comes in to handle the paperwork, so the only thing left for Brendon is to return his locker lock and uniform. The principal seems unimpressed by his folding job, and wrinkles his nose at the balled socks. He doesn’t wish him luck, or a good future. Nobody says anything to him as he walks out, whether it’s hello or goodbye. It’s not upsetting, he wasn’t expecting anything anyway.

When the car pulls to a stop in front of Irving, he can’t say public school seems that much different. A red brick school, green lawn, a few kids standing in the gutter so they’re technically off school property so they can smoke a cigarette. Brendon grabs his backpack and moves up the wide sidewalk to the set of six metallic green doors. The inside isn’t particularly different either. It’s linoleum and white square brick, not hardwood and panelling, but Brendon’s not an interior decorator and it’s not a big difference to him. It smells the same, lemons from the newly mopped floor, a dozen different overly sprayed perfumes and colognes wafting off students, grease from the cafeteria that’s at the end of the hall. Irving even sounds the same, clusters of people all trying to talk over each other, feet clomping down the halls, the occasional crash of a locker slamming.

The real difference becomes obvious in seconds; the students. His parents are paying five thousand dollars a year to keep him away from this type of teenager. At least, they _were_. He’s no longer worth the cost, for whatever reason he decides to believe.

Brendon’s got a manila envelope of documents he needs as an Irving student. The first he pulls out is a map of the school, the second a tiny slip with two numbers. One is obviously his locker, the other the combination for the lock. He doesn’t need to use the map to find it, the numbers on each locker rise by one down each hallway. The battered metal is bigger than the one at Pine, full length instead of half. He opens it to check the lock, not because he has anything interesting to put inside yet. Maybe after his classes he’ll have textbooks or something.

There are a few more sheets in the envelope, but the one he really needs is his schedule. It’s nearly nine, it wouldn’t do to be late. The light green paper seems pretty straight forward. At Pine each grade had a floor of the building, one classroom for each course, and the students rotated. There was no need for a schedule, you only needed to remember what grade you were in, and what the first class was. Irving’s spread out differently, it obviously has far too many classrooms for that system. Still, the schedule clears it up nicely; each square tells him the course, the teacher’s name, and the classroom. Except for the first and second courses. All those boxes say is CSS. His schedule has obviously been misprinted.

The first place Brendon thinks to go is to the guidance counsellor. The principal in a public school isn’t getting paid to interact with the students, he’s paid to make sure no one smuggles in weapons. At Pine Crest Mr Taylor was primarily for attending the students’ college preparation, the role can’t be that much different here.

The map shows him the way to the guidance office, and to heck with Adam for saying he couldn’t find his way out of a paper bag with a lighter in one hands. Brendon can always figure out where he’s supposed to be. It’s just sometimes where he’s supposed to be isn’t as interesting as where he is, and he doesn’t want to leave. The office is many times larger than the one at Pine Crest, the hallway door opening to a small seating area and five other closed doors, each labelled with letters. It makes sense to have so many guidance counsellors though, considering the student population is about quadruple what Pine’s was.

Brendon feels incredibly awkward. On one end of the bench there is a girl with pink hair in pigtails crying. He doesn’t like to see people upset, but the problems of someone that makes that sort of lifestyle choice will be way out of his problem solving league. He stays standing rather than sit at the other end of the bench. Getting within talking distance will only be unhelpful for the both of them.

The longer he stays, the more uncomfortable he feels. She looks a little scary, even crying, and there’s no telling how long he’ll be trapped in here with her before one of the doors opens. And it’s entirely possible that it’s an in-school acronym that every student will know. So Brendon leaves, deciding he’ll ask the first person that looks approachable. It quickly becomes obvious that’s easier said than done. Yeah, he knew there wouldn’t be a dress code, he’s not sweating in his poorly ironed slacks and jacket, but he thought there would be a middle ground between uniform and crack dealer. Apparently not.

Once he finally finds a nice looking girl, denim patchwork ankle length shirt and an appropriately loose shirt, Brendon asks “do you know what the CSS on the first two slots of my schedule means? There’s no homeroom number to go to.”

She stills the green paper that he’s waving and looks at it for a second before smiling. “Oh, it’s just Community and Social Service. It’s mandatory, you know, every senior has to take it. You didn’t get yours figured out during the summer? Weird. You should probably, like, go to the guidance counsellor or something.”

“Right. Thanks.” Well, shoot.

***

Like all families Brendon knows, his gathers to eat dinner together, sharing their day as they eat. Today most of the attention seems to be focused on him, everyone wanting to know how his first day went. Brendon does his best to tell his siblings what they want to hear; Valerie that he was calm, Mason that he thinks the classes are pretty easy, Kara that a few people smiled back when he smiled at them. What he doesn’t tell anyone is that he has two periods of volunteering each day. Brendon is fully aware that not telling his family everything is tantamount to lying. Still, he just can’t bring himself to share the information. As soon as he does everyone will have opinions about what he should do, and as they’re all older than him he’ll be expected to listen. And that’s if dad doesn’t directly tell him what church affiliated program needs his help the most. For once Brendon just wants a moment of doing what he wants to do, not what he’s told to do.

Community Service is a rare chance at choice, and the way Brendon sees it he should choose something that will make him happy, as opposed to making everyone else happy. There are two things guaranteed to make him smile every day; baby animals and music. It helps that neither is something mom and dad or the church will oppose; there’s nothing immoral about pets. Music is good too, as long as the lyrics are appropriate.

Once the plates are stacked in the kitchen for mom and Kara to wash, Brendon escapes to his room. The closed door isn’t much of a deterrent, locked doors promote opportunities for self-stimulation and so none of the doors in the house have them. But if someone opens the door to talk to him, he should have just enough time to hide the list the guidance counsellor - Mrs Toews for U to Z- printed out for him under his pillow. It’s a two page list of potential places for the uninspired. Those with their own ideas about what part of the city or society needs help are allowed to locate their own place, as long as it’s approved before they start logging hours. Luckily though that search won’t be needed for him; there are three pre-approved animal shelters, and a program for reaching to disenfranchised children through music.

Unlike a good majority of the school -most likely at least, he can’t say for certain, his parents didn’t want him to join band because they perform alongside cheerleaders, girls obviously flaunting themselves for the entertainment of others- Brendon can actually play multiple instruments. It’s not vanity to say he plays well enough to teach others, he doesn’t brag about it, it’s just the truth. The problem that comes with joining that program is he’s never met a disenfranchised child. He’s pretty sure he can’t relate to someone witnessing or involved in a stabbing or drive-by shooting, or even to a child with divorced parents. And if he can’t connect with them he’s not doing the job right. It’s important, to the church and to himself, that he has a work ethic. It would be wrong to volunteer if he knows from the onset that he can’t fulfill the job.

***

Brendon’s got a pocket full of quarters when he steps up to the bank of payphones just inside the front doors. The shining silver is covered in Sharpie graffiti, he tries not to read any of it as he punches in the first number on the list and pops in the two quarters. He’s probably the only student in the school without a cell phone, but it’s not like he normally has anyone to call anyway.

The first number is a bust; it already has five students helping in the morning and doesn’t need any more. The second and third are the same, leaving Brendon at a loss. Part of him wants to just call the music program, surely not everyone has his skill set. But he really wouldn’t suit it in personality, and that’s just as important. He compromises with himself and tucks the list back into his binder before slinging his backpack over one shoulder and heading to the library. It can be a back up opportunity, in case he can’t find anything else that works.

It takes most of first period to compile a list of pet stores on Google and almost ten bucks in quarters, but eventually Brendon talks to a man willing to have a student to come in and help with the dogs. Apparently he’s already got someone for cats. Mrs Toews takes about thirty seconds to sign off on it, as he’s not insane she doesn’t have much use for him.

“Do you drive, Brendon?”

“I _can_ drive. I don’t have a car though, if that’s what you mean.”

“That’s too bad. I don’t know if you know the area, but the shop you’re going to be helping is about seven blocks west. If you drove you could catch up some of your time, I know you’re already behind three hours.”

Brendon shrugs, and when she asks him if there’s anything else, he takes it for the clear dismissal it is. Seven blocks really isn’t that far, it won’t take him more than fifteen minutes to walk it.

When he opens the door a chime goes off, and he can hear the muffled sound of dogs barking in response at the back of the shop. At the front is what Brendon can’t help but think of as the boring pets; the fish and birds, and tiny cages of hamsters and guinea pigs and white mice. There’s also a door painted green with a tiny placard proclaiming A. Sinthe. Brendon knocks on the door several times before turning the knob when the man grunts. He doesn’t let the apparent bad mood stop him from entering. Mr Sinthe needs to tell him what his duties will be so he can start helping, as well as sign him in and out every morning.

He’s not the most wholesome looking man, and the first thing he does is open a drawer in his desk and gesture at it wildly. “Here’s the name-tag drawer. Take whichever one you want, switch daily. It’s for plausible deniability so when someone barges in and demands you’re fired I don’t know who you are and don’t have to waste my time on that shit.”

Brendon takes offence at the idea that he’ll be bad enough that a customer would complain, but doesn’t say anything. Complaining won’t prove anything, he’ll just have to show he’s a good volunteer. Still, even the base system seems flawed. “Won’t they just describe me?”

“You’ve both got brown hair and glasses, it’ll be fine.” With that Mr Sinthe spins until the back of his chair is facing him. He takes it as the cue to go find this lookalike volunteer and introduce himself.

Said volunteer is near the back, where the cats are lined up. But if there’s one thing Brendon is positive about, it’s that he would never be confused for ‘Bill’. Bill is some strange combination of what his preacher would call a Godless thug, and gender confused. He’s wearing a shirt with a demon’s firey face on it, and the text Disturbed over the demon’s eyes. They don’t match very well to his extremely tight jeans, though the elaborate skeleton belt buckle does. And on second glance those are definitely girls jeans, they zipper on the wrong side. Not that girls should be wearing jeans that tight anyway, but it’s pretty obvious that’s not an issue he’ll have much ability to change, almost all the girls at Irving yesterday were wearing clothes far too tight, and far too revealing. The look is topped off with his hairstyle; girl-bangs and more time, effort and hairspray than would be used in Brendon’s house in a month. All of it together is enough to make him shy away from saying hello. If there’s one person Heavenly Father doesn’t want him to become friends with, it’s ‘Bill’.

***

Brendon’s not upset his dad picked his two optional classes for him. Being consulted would have been good, he could have told him that biology would be a misery. But Dad decided to chose what he thought was best for him, and unlike most teenagers he’ll respect his father’s decision. As sorely tempted as he is, he won’t skip or see if he can get Mrs Toews to change anything. He just needs to remind himself that it’s okay to suffer. Learning endurance is an important goal, especially when sooner rather than later he’ll have to start proving he’s worthy of a mission.

Of the six schedule slots, the first two belong to Paws And Claws, and then he has AP math, cooking, biology and English. Each day is like a wave, a good beginning followed by a trifecta of bad. First he eats his lunch and since Mom has perfect lunch building abilities he’s always full, then he has to eat whatever he’s made in cooking even if it looks terrible, and then when he’s absolutely stuffed to the brim he has to go write notes about all sorts of disgusting diseases.

Even considered individually, each class has it’s flaws. In biology they have to cut animals apart. Brendon _likes_ animals, he doesn’t want to cut them apart, not even if they’re already dead. Cooking’s subject matter is obviously a lot better, but there are eight kitchen stations for twenty five teenagers, and his partners are a girlfriend and boyfriend that spend more time with their hands on each other than kneading dough. Math is just plain boring. A lot of the time he doesn’t have enough patience for plugging everything into a graphing calculator, and it’s easy to not even notice he’s doing it wrong until he gets a zero for in-class work.

English is his refuge, a class where he is expected to talk and have opinions he’s not parroting from the Book of Mormon. He shouldn’t be enjoying it as much as he does. If Brendon told his parents about some of the subject matter they’ve already discussed, they would lodge a complaint about inappropriateness to the principal. Even the room would be considered offensive; the walls are plastered in witty signs, student created advertisements, and book covers of novels his parents would never let him read blown up into posters. Brendon decided the first day of the course he wouldn’t tell anyone. What his family doesn’t know can’t become an issue. It’s somewhat shameful, but if he has to suffer three bad classes he should be allowed a single nice class. Surely Heavenly Father would understand.

The best thing about the class -aside from being encouraged to have his own thoughts- is the interesting assignments. It’s not a literature based English course, there are no copies of Jane Eyre or To Kill A Mockingbird on the spinning rack beside Mr Anglia’s desk. In fact, he said on the first day that they’re learning essentially everything except novels. When he stands and hands out a stack of lavender papers to the front of each row, Brendon waits impatiently for them to be passed back. Whatever the homework is, it’s bound to be interesting. Even if he has to spend all of lunch doing it because it’s something he can’t risk looking at in his bedroom, it’ll be worth it.

“This is an outline for your final project. It’s due the week before exams, and I know right now that’s not for forever,” Brendon snickers quietly as Mr Anglia waves his arms sarcastically, “but if you leave it to the last day, I will be able to tell, and you will probably fail. So don’t. It will be a compendium of the ways of getting a message across, on a subject of your choice. It will require a poem, an interview, a photograph, and _not_ something taken from Flickr or Google Images, that’s plagiarism, which again, will lead to a fail, so you best keep a copy on your camera if it seems suspect-”

Brendon draws bubbles around the requirements on the purple sheet as he waits for the three hole punch to make its way to him. He snickers again when Katrina complains it’s a lot of work. She clearly doesn’t know what work is, it’s far more difficult developing a speech as a priest in the church. She also doesn’t seem to understand that complaining never gets anyone further in life, it just makes people lose their respect for you.

The problem with his theory is that her complaining works. It takes only a minute of the class all chiming in together for him to allow for partners. Brendon didn’t think Mr Anglia was that weak, but maybe he just doesn’t want to read thirty projects when he can read fifteen. Either way it doesn’t matter, partners are optional and there’s no one in the class he’s friends with to pair up.

“New kid, be my partner?”

Brendon looks over as a guy in a green shirt crashes into the seat beside him. He seems totally earnest about the suggestion, which makes Brendon suspicious. He’s not going to do the entire project just so someone else can write their name beside on his as they share a grade. “Why me?”

“Because I’m always the bitch.” Brendon blinks, then looks down at his scrawled over assignment sheet. He has no idea how to answer that and asking for clarification probably isn’t the best idea either, so underlining the due date until his pen is about to rip through the paper is the next best thing. “It’s nothing personal, new kid. I’m not saying you’re making me a bitch. It’s just Navarro and Saporta have this Not A Thing, or a Thing Except It’s Not, or a Not Quite A Thing, God only knows, and even though it’s their sex I’m always the bitch. It’s fucking ridiculous.”

Heavenly Father help him, he’s curious. Nobody ever talked like that at Pine, at least not to him. And he’s entirely certain none of the priests have ever spoken like that at church. “What’s the difference?”

“What? Oh. Well, a Not Quite A Thing is exactly what it sounds like; each keeps bitching out and waiting for the other to make a move. A Not A Thing is them having sex and saying it doesn’t mean anything and it may or may not. And A Thing But It’s Not is the opposite; basically they have fun sexing it up and they wanna love each other because the sex is so good, but it’s just not happening.”

“Wow.” Brendon had no idea relationships were so complicated when sex was involved. There’s a difference between the Elders telling the Priests, and the Priests telling the Teachers and Teachers telling the Deacons, and hearing it from someone that actually has experienced sexual intimacy before marriage.

“Yeah, so, we’re not actually sure which one it is, but there’s always tension. And if it’s stuff in pairs it’s always them, and Ry being a gentleman to Victoria, and me being the bitch fifth wheel. Except none of them are in this class, but the new kid is always the bitch, so I figure better two bitches together than you with the kid that sniffs White Out.”

Again, Brendon has no idea what to say. The guy misinterprets his silence and frowns before questioning “unless you wanna be with the kid that sniffs White Out?”

“No.” Eagerness to listen to potentially offensive educational matter or not, there are lines Brendon knows not to cross. Befriending someone with a substance abuse problem is definitely one of those lines.

“Cool. Then what do you think our subject should be? Remember, it needs to be multi-anglenable.”

“Is that a word?”

“If it isn’t I should have a red squiggly line under my feet.” He backs up the chair to the desk of the person behind him and raises his feet but Brendon’s not dumb enough to look when it’s obviously a joke. The guy on the other hand peers down before saying with mock relief “good, there’s nothing. Multi-anglenable it is. But probably something real, considering the small research article.”

“I think the advertisement will be easy, you can sell anything. But the letters to the editor and the picture might be hard.”

“Bears,” the teen says firmly.

“What?” It’s kind of a non-sequitor.

“Bears!” he repeats more emphatically. “No. Clouds. It should be clouds. There’s an assload of science, we can take a picture before lunch, we can have like cloud nine slippers or something. It’s fucking great. Unless you have a personal vendetta against clouds.”

“What?”

“You know, like if clouds killed your mom and you can’t rest until every last one has been obliterated from the sky.”

“No? But that could totally be the fiction piece?” Brendon likes the mental image of some man going around in a hot air balloon, capturing clouds in giant nets and making them pay.

“Clouds it is. We’re gonna take those columbus mother fuckers down.”

“Actually I think it’s cumulus.” Brendon knows it is, there was a weather pattern unit in natural science last year, but sounding like a know-it-all isn’t conducive to keeping friends.

“Whatever. Close enough.” He waves off the distinction instead of getting mad at the correction, and then starts to sketch out an ad for Cloud Nine slippers. He’s not a very good artist, but that doesn’t seem to stop him from drawing massive blobs all over the bottom half of his notebook page.

It’s not until Brendon’s nearly at his locker to deposit his biology textbook and pick up his math one that he realises he doesn’t know the guy’s name, and the guy probably doesn’t know his. Brendon shrugs. The best thing about Irving’s schedule compared to Pine’s is he has each class every day instead of three rotating five class days. He’ll have English again tomorrow, he can ask him then.

*

Brendon loves playing with Sniffler. He loves it so much that it’s almost impossible to believe at the end of the semester he’s going to get a credit for hanging out with her. It’s like getting a credit for playing the guitar, or for singing in the church choir. It’s not like he’s going to make his life harder and refuse the credit. Nor is he going to switch to helping the janitor at Irving like one of the drug addict students that hang out at the side door is. It’s just nice to not have to do something uncomfortable with a smile on his face.

Sniffler is a chocolate Labrador Retriever. He knows because he took a picture and then looked up different dogs on Google until he found one that matched, not because Mr Sinthe knew. Sometimes Brendon suspects Mr Sinthe doesn’t care about the animals in his shop. He’s fairly certain he isn’t all in his right mind. It’s easy to forget about his boss though. He only sees him for a minute when he walks into the office to get his log signed and to grab another fake name tag, and then he’s with all the dogs, making sure they know they’re loved. Sniffler in particular. She’s going blind, which means probably no one will ever adopt her. Everyone wants a perfect animal, never mind that no living creature or human can be perfect.

It’s a terrible thing to think, but Brendon’s almost happy for people’s pickiness. If nobody adopts her, he can take care of her forever. There aren’t a lot of toys at Paws And Claws -Brendon’s considering going to a better pet store and buying all sorts of items- but Sniffler doesn’t need them. She loves a belly rub, and he loves how much she loves it. He could just rub her for the whole hour forty five minutes, and he doesn’t think she’d disagree.

He’s on the floor, making her legs kick in joy, when a chime rings out. It takes Brendon a minute to place it as the door chime. He’s been helping here a month, and in the thirty seven logged hours there haven’t been any even _potential_ customers.

 _“I’ll be right back, I promise,” he tells Sniffer, unfolding to his feet. He gives her a parting rub and hurries to the front. He doesn’t trust Kittyboy’s ability to persuade a customer into giving one of the lovely pets a permanent home. To be honest, Brendon doesn’t even trust his ability to show courtesy. Not when they’re halfway through their fifth week and he hasn’t said a single word to him. Brendon has had to resort to thinking of him as Kittyboy for his constant presence in the cat section. It’s easier than noting which fake name tag he grabs each day, and he has to call him something._

 _First impressions say she’ll want a Bulldog or a Great Dane. Or a Python, not that they sell them. Something intimidating, at least. It’s the only polite word he has for her. She’s got black hair mussed into dreadlocks, and piercing in places he didn’t even know you _could_ pierce. He’s seen people with nose and eyebrow piercings, but she has two gold balls on her throat, and he can see through the hole in her earlobe._

When Brendon had sprinted in from the parking lot at quarter to nine -never just be on time, Brendon, it shows disinterest- he had belatedly wished he was wearing a jacket. She’s only wearing a tank top, but she must be made out of sterner stuff than he is because she’s not shivering. The wind must have picked up from when he was out, her dreds are everywhere. She shakes her head, scattering them more, then raises her arms to pull them into a ponytail that she doesn’t tie. With her arms up he gets a glance of their undersides, one is covered in the bright colours of a tattoo.

Kittyboy -today it says Adam- is smiling at her. The gesture is hardly a surprise, even if it’s the first time he’s seen the expression on his face. Brendon smiles at people he sees wearing crosses, even though as a Mormon he doesn’t wear one himself, to encourage their faith. Of course Kittyboy, seemingly gothic and hardcore from head to toe, smiles at a girl with dreadlocks and a tattoo.

Then, instead of walking the extra foot to slip past the gap in the front desk, she puts both hands on the teal laminate and heaves herself over, like she’s hopping a fence. Once she’s half over, Kittyboy’s hands curl around her shoulders, and they remain after she’s firmly planted. It’s only seconds before they’re kissing, not quite as passionately as Devon and Katie from cooking class, but somehow more confident. Brendon looks away after a moment. He should do more than that. He should be leaving before he witnesses anything more. It’s against his faith, and she’s obviously not a customer.

Instead he stays near the door, and doesn’t understand why the feeling he self-diagnoses is disappointment. It can’t just be that it’s obvious they’re having premarital sex. Brendon wouldn’t wish spirit prison on anyone, even knowing most will eventually get to join the Telestial Kingdom, but he’s come to accept that most people will have to suffer for a time. He’s only able to shake it off when they pull apart, and the girl turns to show Kittyboy her arm. There are a series of hoop piercing in it, and a ribbon strung through them.

“Holy shit, Alicia,” he says, awestruck. Brendon winces at the phrasing, but agrees with the sentiment. Although it’s a bit sad that Kittyboy’s shocked now, Brendon likes to think he would have noticed the moment she hopped over the counter.

“What? It’s not a full corset.”

“Your mom is still going to kick your ass. You can’t exactly hide that shit.”

“It’s not my mother’s skin, is it?”

“Don’t show Gee.”

“Why not? It’s art, he could draw me.”

Kittyboy doesn’t seem to like that response. He snorts before elaborating, “it’s needles, he’ll puke.”

She smirks. “So then I shouldn’t take him back to the parlour when they start to reject and I need to remove them?”

“If you want to carry his unconscious body out of the shop, that’s your choice. I’m not coming with.”

This, somehow, is more uncomfortable than the making out. Brendon slips back through the door before he has to listen to any more banter. At least dogs don’t have weird body mutilation fetishes.

***

“I’ll roshambo you for who has to do the damn poem.” It’s been weeks since Brendon informed him that Mormons don’t like vulgar language and Alex is still swearing. Brendon knows he should be horribly offended by the lack of consideration as well as the words, and refuse to be his friend, but he’s not, and he won’t. In his opinion it’s enough for the saviour if he doesn’t swear himself.

“I have no idea what that means.”

“Yeah, I guess you wouldn’t understand a South Park reference. For the record though, the writers love the shit out of Mormons. Joesph Smith and the gold plates and all that. Tell me you know what rock paper scissors is, that it isn’t like, gambling or something.”

“It’s not.” At least he’s almost positive it’s not. Brendon shakes his fist three times before making a fist, at the next desk Alex splays his middle and ring fingers.

“Fuck. Why am I always the bitch?”

“You are not, I had to figure out three letters to the editor about clouds. Do you know how hard that was?”

“I didn’t think Mormons were allowed to complain.”

“Alex, you don’t think Mormons are allowed to breathe.” Plus, not that he can admit it to anyone, but he’s pretty sure he’s not the best abiding, most faithful Mormon. Lately his failure in comparison to his siblings has just been shining clearer and clearer.

As the oldest, Mason has always been the one to create the paths the rest of the Uries follow. In love it’s no different, he’s been devoutly chaste with Elizabeth as the Lord commands. Brendon was happy for him when he first found out he was getting married, and interested in witnessing his first sealing ceremony. But with the wedding a week away he’s turned into a horrible person with only negative feelings about the event. He’s jealous that Mason will soon get to know what a woman is like. He’s worried that he’ll never find someone that interests him. He’s egocentric, not wanting to face the after party with dozens of people asking him what his plans are when he graduates. Blasphemy is even rearing it’s ugly head, he can’t help but think their first kiss will be nothing like what Devon and Katie enjoy between every stir or cracked egg, and maybe being forced to wait until marriage is silly.

The answer occurs to him in English class. There’s something in the potent combination of having a stimulating room, a opinionated teacher, and a real friend, that makes Brendon’s brain work in ways it hasn’t before. It’s the end of the mandatory twenty minutes of silent reading, Alex theorises it’s a surefire method of not having to make a full lesson plan, but Brendon appreciates the time. There are things he’s not allowed to read, but Mr Anglia doesn’t know, and if he did he wouldn’t care. Brendon puts his book on top of his backpack -if it goes into his bag he might forget and bring it home, and if someone found Ironman, there would be, as Alex so succinctly puts it, a shitstorm- and leans over to him. “Will you go to a wedding with me?”

“Uh, you know I’m straight, right?”

“Yes?” Of course he is, but Brendon doesn’t understand what that has to do with anything.

Alex continues like he hadn’t said anything at all. “Because I can probably find a cool bi guy to go with you though, I know a lot of those.”

“I am very confused.”

“Well, it all started long ago and far away when you asked me out on a date.”

“What? I did not!” He’s Mormon, he’s not allowed to be Gay.

“You asked me to go to a wedding. That’s a classic. I mean, it’s a classic for a thirty year old woman, but I figure Mormons do their shit early. World travel for teenagers, child brides, you know.”

“We do not have child brides! Mason’s twenty three! I just don’t want to be there alone. Everyone else will be nagging me if I’m there alone. If you’re there, I’ve brought a possible convert and everyone will be proud of my preaching skills.”

“You realise you’re not converting shit all, right?”

“As long as you don’t say that after the sealing ceremony, I don’t care.” It’s a lie, and lying at the temple is probably one of the worst things he could do, but it still seems better than facing _what works are you going to create for yourself and your family_ for five hours.

“And you’re sure this isn’t a date.”

“Very sure.”

***

It does kind of feel like a date. Or at least it would if Alex wasn’t the wrong gender.

***

Normally he wouldn’t be outside during his volunteering time. Even if Mr Sinthe is always in his office, and won’t notice or care, it feels wrong to cheat the system, and it feels worse to desert the animals. But with Mason married and living with his wife, there’s no more being dropped off on the route to Mason’s work. Instead it’s Valerie waking up specifically to drive him to Paws And Claws, and she’s always been one to sleep in until the last minute. She doesn’t wake him up in time to have breakfast, and ever since that one time he spilled a Slurpee in the family van, she doesn’t trust him with food in her new car. By Wednesday he’s learned to bring a jumbo muffin with him.

Of course he can’t eat it inside because the dogs get pouty. Which leads to him being out here in mid-November, a experience he doesn’t particularly need in his life.

Instead of yellow or white lines painted on the asphalt, the parking spaces in the lot are noted by short wooden posts. There’s a fist sized hole drilled in at the top of each post, a heavy chain threaded through almost all. Only the posts directly in front of each store in the strip mall are exempt. Brendon’s perched on one, ripping chunks off the plate sized muffin when Kittyboy comes out. He seems surprised to see him, though from the brief encounters Brendon’s had he’s not much for facial expressions, so it’s more of a loose interpretation of the slight pause in Kittyboy’s gait than solid dropped mouth proof. He can understand the surprise, technically one of them should be inside at all times, and he probably didn’t peg Brendon as the shirker. But he’s hungry, and he can’t eat with Rascal drooping in his general direction, so for the first time it seems the plausible deniability name tags will come in handy.

Kittyboy takes a red package out of his pocket instead of saying hello. He pulls a cigarette from it before cramming the pack back in. Brendon’s not surprised, Kittyboy’s jeans are always ridiculously tight, and the bulging square can only be so many things. It still takes everything he has to not start repeating the Word of Wisdom and it’s stance on tobacco. Before the silence can spur him into speaking, a guy from a few stores down the strip mall comes out and walks over to them. He only stops when he’s right beside Kittyboy, almost awkwardly close. He takes the cigarette from his hand, and Brendon has a moment to think the stranger is going to be bold and crush it beneath his shoe before being proven wrong. The man shakes his head so his greasy femininely long hair isn’t on his face, then takes a drag.

Brendon isn’t trying to listen in on their conversation, but his post is only a few feet away from where they’re standing, wind thankfully blowing the smoke to the left so he doesn’t get interrogated by Valerie at quarter to eleven. He learns a lot in the next fifteen minutes, like Gerard thinks his break is the only think keeping him alive, that working at a scrapbooking store sucks, and that Jodie is trying to scalp her Maple Kings ticket for only ten bucks above original price if he wants it.

When Gerard says his goodbyes before going back into his store, Brendon learns two additional important facts. The first is that they’re brothers, which makes him wonder if the feminine qualities run in the family, if their dad wears makeup or high heels. And the second is that Kittyboy is Mikey. He still can’t use it in Paws And Claws, Mikey would know he was eavesdropping. But at least he has something better to call him in his head, something that doesn’t evoke images of the tall teenager with a tail and tiger striped cat ears.

***

Brendon wakes up to Kara shouting at him from the bottom of the stairs. “Brendon! It’s your friend on the phone!”

She doesn’t clarify more, but then she doesn’t have to, it’s not like he has more than one. While his parents or brothers and sisters might consider the others his age at church friends, Brendon knows better. They’re friendly because that’s what God commands. Alex actually seems interested in him for reasons all his own. He’s an atheist, God has nothing to do with any of his decisions, which is wrong, fascinating, and terrifying all at the same time.

Superior friendship or not, he’s still not someone that anyone in the family would approve of if they knew him better. Between Alex knowing when to keep his mouth full of one bite desserts and Brendon carefully steering him away from those that would ask too many or too detailed questions, they managed to come out of Mason’s wedding alive. Alex stuck on one end of the phone, with Kara of all people on the other, is far more dangerous. Brendon bolts out of bed, grabbing his housecoat from its hook and tossing it on as he races down the stairs. The longer time Kara has to ask seemingly innocent questions, the higher the chance of Alex saying something completely inappropriate.

“Thanks Kara,” he says as he slides to a stop on the hardwood. He thrusts out his hand impatiently, though his worry is slightly abated. Alex not being hung up on is a good sign. She gives him a bit of a look as she passes the phone over, an expression he’s used to from anyone older than him. It doesn’t even hurt anymore.

“Hi. What’s up?”

“Just called to make sure you were suffering with the rest of us slackers.”

Brendon doesn’t really think it’s slacking if his three make up hours are from not knowing he needed to volunteer, but he doesn’t say it. Nor does he say that working at Paws and Claws isn’t suffering, and he’ll probably spend longer than the necessary three hours just because he can. “Yeah. Had my alarm set for ten. Sometimes you need to sleep in a little, you know.”

“Not to sound egocentric, but do you realise how many boxes are donated at Christmas? I’ll be doing heavy lifting forever. There’s not a chance I’ll be given sorting or packaging. They always give the easy shit to the girls and the old people. Which is _stupid_ because both Victoria and her grandmother could kick my ass.”

“If you’re so against it, just don’t show up.”

Alex’s sigh is impressively loud, Brendon’s heard quieter screams. “Can’t bail on Harvest, unfortunately. I need to make up the time for when I skipped. Saporta’s friend Bilvy once had a mental breakdown, well, or insane drug binge, we’re really not sure. But anyway, he ran away to live in a hotel for two weeks, blew a fuckton of money. He almost failed all his classes, and he forgot to make up his cee ess ess and since it was a mandatory credit he had to repeat half the year, just for it. He graduates after exams, it fucked up his university, it’s crazy. That shit’s not happening to me.”

***

He’s been at Paws and Claws for three hours, and he’s not the only one. Mikey was here when he arrived. Brendon can only figure Gerard still had to work a shift, and he tagged along. It’s strange because Mikey shouldn’t have any make up time, unless he missed the first day too. But as the day stretches and neither of them leave it becomes somewhat of a relief. He isn’t the weird, overly-attached kid if Mikey’s here too. Not that they can leave anyway, at least one of them needs to stay to make sure the shop doesn’t get robbed. Mr Sinthe left almost an hour ago, with no mention of when he’d be back.

Owning a pet store isn’t a potential career for him, no more than Alex will be running a business to feed those below the poverty line. There has to be a bunch of paperwork he’s not seeing, Mr Sinthe’s office is full of portable metal containers. Worrying every day about costs, and what food to be giving the animals, and if the cat or dog or guinea pig is going to a good home, it’s too stressful for Brendon, not to mention what happens if an animal gets sick. Surgeries for animals are as expensive as human surgeries, and most of them probably aren’t cost effective. That all being said, full day volunteering is nice. Around one he walks to the gas station and picks up a bag of chips and a caffeine free soda for lunch. Mikey leaves a few times, presumably going to visit his brother. There are no customers, so Brendon grabs a few papers from the office to write down some cloud based song lyrics when they come to him. For his part, Mikey is never seen without his cell phone in hand, texting constantly.

Brendon’s making a rare visit in the cat section when Mikey’s phone rings. It’s a rock song, Brendon can tell that much, even if he doesn’t know what the song is, or which band. He folds to his knees to let Panther chase the ribbon in his hand to justify his presence, and Mikey doesn’t even look at him before answering it. “Hey.

“Same as always, playing with Bluebell and Whiskers.

“Oh, fuck you, I didn’t name them.

“No I can’t use nicknames, I already confuse them enough by only being here two hours a day.

“Yeah, well, I’m pretty sure you see Patrick more than two hours a day.

“Cumulatively, then. Tell me it’s not fourteen hours a week and I’ll give you a lollipop.

“You could.

“You want to? How about now? Unless you’ve already changed your mind about wanting to see me more than two hours.

“You know where it is?

“Love you too.”

Brendon puts Panther away then stations himself at the front of the store, slowly filling up the bird’s food and water. He wants to be there when the girl with dreads comes in. He wants to see if her arm scarred from the body modification, or if she’s done anything else crazy.

Unfortunately for his curiosity -the nearly full food dishes mean he won’t be able to stay up front much longer- when the door opens it’s not dreadlocked girl. Instead it’s a teenage boy, their first customer of the day. Brendon’s never actually run a til, nor does he have any idea if they have to sign any papers, or get their record checked like people trying to buy guns do. Asking him to leave and come back when Mr Sinthe is around has to be bad business practice, even if he’s exceedingly polite the guy probably won’t come back. Hopefully Mikey knows the procedures, Brendon can hear him whispering to the cats as he puts them in their cages so he can open the door without them bolting.

Mikey’s delay is his gain, he immediately starts to compose a pitch for selling Beldon. She’s a great dog and would be an excellent Christmas present. They could probably even deliver her on Christmas day; his family doesn’t celebrate until the afternoon. Getting a great dog for Christmas would be the best present ever, and he’d love to see the look on this guy’s sister’s face. Presuming she doesn’t look as strange as he does. His clothes look like a box of markers exploded on him; multiple primaries down to green shoes and a red streak in his hair. The only thing a solid expanse of colour are the grey-black tattoos littering his arms and peeking from the collar of his shirt.

Brendon realises he’s got things wrong when Mikey calls _hey Pete_ as he comes through the door. But he knows he’s got things direly wrong when Mikey goes past the front desk to give Pete a hello kiss. All this time he’s been working with a Gay, how could he never have realised?

***

His parents are both reading in the living room when he gets off the phone. It’s hard to say if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. If they were separate he could go to the parent he thought would be most likely to grant permission. But if they were separate, once the easier parent said yes, there would be a strong chance of the other parent or Mason or Valerie or Kara pointing out that he was playing them, and then not only would the permission be revoked, he’d have to repent for deceiving his family. All he can do now is hope they’re in a good mood, and that Mom can temper Dad.

“Remember the project I was telling you about?” In the end he’d had no choice but to tell them, they’d been concerned about his lack of English homework. At least he’d been able to gloss over some of the more controversial aspects, thanks to Alex’s innocent cloud proposal.

“The one you interviewed Nona’s youngest for?”

“Yeah,” Brendon answers, the memory of the day making him smile. Bethie had been so happy to have so much attention lavished on her, lessons on modesty not quite sticking yet. Not only were her answers adorable, he and Alex are both pretty confident that asking a six year old will be a unique interview choice and might get them marks for creativity.

“What about it?”

“Alex asked me if I could come over after dinner to work on it. It’s due the first week after vacation, and we’ve been keeping on top of it, but there are still some parts that need work. I told him I had to ask you, he understood.” Brendon quests for something else positive to say and lands on “I don’t think he’s trying to lead me astray. You remember him from the wedding, right? He’s-”

“You should stay the night.”

“Pardon me?” Brendon stares at his dad, from the whiskers starting to emerge on his cheeks, to the buttoned throat of his polo shirt, to the finger that’s dipped between the pages of his closed book like a flesh bookmark. There’s no indication that he’s joking, but it’s nearly impossible to believe. The suggestion is nowhere near what he thought their reaction would be. In fact, it’s basically the polar opposite.

“The assignment is a major part of a core class, am I right?”

“Yes, it’s forty percent of my and Alex’s mark.”

His mom smiles at him, apparently in complete agreement with Dad. “We’d hardly say no to you striving for the best possible mark. And this way if it runs late you don’t have to wake anyone up to come get you.”

“Thank you!” His first sleepover that’s not in the basement of the church. It’s going to be great! Presuming that Mr and Mrs Suarez will let him stay overnight, of course. Just because he has permission doesn’t mean Alex will.

Brendon’s nearly at the end of the hall when Mom calls “oh, Brendon?”

This is what happens when you celebrate too soon; everything falls apart. It’ll be safer to hear the sudden rejection from the hallway, they won’t see his complete failure at a pokerface if they can’t see any of him. “Yes?”

“Dinner’s in fifteen minutes,” is her response, instead of taking any joy away from him.

***

Of course, that’s not entirely the end of it. Valerie drives him to Alex’s, strangely uninterrogative. It makes sense though, when he’s slamming the van door, backpack and sleeping bag in one bulky pile under one arm, and hears the driver door slam too. She follows him up the sidewalk, and come into the Suarez house under the guise of needing to use the washroom. Brendon knows what’s she’s really doing, though he doesn’t out her purposes. It’s embarrassing enough that she’s spying to see if they’re decent people, it will only be worse if they know they’re being tested.

Thankfully after a few carefully worded questions she silently pronounces them acceptable. Brendon can see it in her body language; the moment she lets her posture slacken slightly he knows he’s going to be allowed to stay. Mr Suarez gives her a saran-wrapped plate of cookies, explaining that it’s a family recipe that Alex tweaked with this morning, and she smiles as she leaves. He knows she’ll report that they participate in family activities, events which the Bishop is always lauding. Alex grabs a second plate and they retreat to his bedroom to work.

It takes almost an hour before they get the layout planned. They try Brendon’s idea of a powerpoint, but after a few slides it just doesn’t feel right. Alex’s scrapbooking idea is alright, and Brendon has a lot of art supplies at home left over from Kara and Valerie’s childhood they can use. The problem is they can think of at least three other groups that will make a scrapbook, one pair was actually already cutting. Posterboard and science fair three sided stands are both rejected as too messy, they’d definitely lose points for organisation. Then Alex gets a brilliant idea; a newspaper made from those disposable papers they cover exam tables with. It’ll be different from everyone else’s project, it’ll be relatively easy to hand print their ‘articles’, and Alex apparently has no problems walking into a clinic and pretending to be ill for long enough to snatch one or three.

With a not-to-scale rough sketch of what will go where, Alex says something that Brendon can tell is a quote from something, even if he’s never watched it. “All work and no play makes Alex a dull boy. Come on.”

Brendon decides in the time it takes to get down the stairs that he will watch whatever movie or show Alex wants. There’s an extremely high chance that it’ll be something inappropriate, but if he can make up his own mind about the books he’s reading he can do the same with programs. The measure is supposed to be would you feel embarrassed of your choices if Jesus was looking at your shelves, but he thinks Jesus will understand him watching an episode of CSI.

Alex doesn’t lead him to the den for morally wrong viewing though. Instead Brendon follows him into the sun room, where Mr Saurez is watering one of the many plants pressed against the glass. “We’re going out.”

“Where to?”

“Saporta’s having a winter break party. His parents are having one of their monthly ‘we’re separated but let’s see if we can fall back in love’ vacations, so a bunch of us are going over to distract him.”

Where as his parents would be freaking out if Brendon had ever momentarily lost enough sanity to bring up the possibility of a party, Alex’s dad doesn’t seem concerned in the least. He doesn’t even turn around from the plant he’s slowly saturating. “Have fun. Call me if you’re too drunk to drive.”

This is not what Brendon signed up for. He’s going to get in trouble. Massive, massive amounts of trouble. When he tells Alex as much though, he doesn’t seem to understand. “No one is going to slip you a roofie. You don’t even have to drink if you don’t want to. This isn’t an after school special. There’s no bullshit peer pressure, it’s your fuckin’ choice.”

“I won’t drink.” Brendon blinks in slight dismay as the words come out. That’s not what he meant to say. His mouth was supposed to say _I won’t go_ , he’s had seventeen years of training for getting out of situations like this, it should be automatic. His body is failing him.

“Well, I’m going, you don’t have to. It’ll be weird if you stay here by yourself, so you should come, but you don’t have to.”

Brendon could call home. Any one of them would pick him up and commend him for his moral decision making. He could even make a speech about it for Sunday. For that matter, if he asked Alex to drop him off on the way to the party he probably would, he’s sure Alex means what he says about no peer pressure. But he doesn’t want to. He doesn’t want to lose this.

It’s a bit dramatic to say the drive to Saporta’s house feels like a drive into hell -not to mention sacrilegious, as being a Mormon means he’s not supposed to believe in hell- but that’s still how it feels. The entire street is full of cars, but he hopes they just belong to the house they’re parked in front of. It’s a hope proven wrong when Alex opens the door; the landing and stairs are a mess of shoes. Brendon’s only seen this many once before; the time they all had to take one off and toss it in a pile in the church before picking out another at random to make a new friend. It definitely doesn’t apply now, they’re all sets and he can’t afford to make friends like these.

Alex starts down the stairs and Brendon has no choice but to follow him. Each step causes an avalanche of shoes to start tumbling down the stairs, clinging to the railing only offers a modicum of safety. At the foot of the stairs Alex takes the few tumbled shoes and tosses them up, demanding a high five each time one stays in its new spot. Only when all are somewhere along the carpeted stairs does Alex turn and lead him to what seems to be the party room. Every surface is covered with people. There are a few different sectionals, one entirely occupied by people that are hopefully sharing a cigarette but are probably smoking marijuana. A handful of kitchen chairs are cramped around a T.V. tray with their occupants playing a card game, and a person of indiscriminate gender is perched on the wooden edge of the pool table, while the pool cue is tossed between two girls and a guy.

It is essentially a den of sin, and he should not be here. Maybe if he just sits outside for the next few hours, it’ll be better for all concerned. That way he won’t bail on Alex, won’t upset the host -that Alex hasn’t even introduced, but there’s probably no etiquette for a house party- and won’t desert the values he’s supposed to have. The minute Alex kneels between the girl’s legs to reach the ripped open bags of snacks hidden under the pool table to maximise room Brendon takes it as an opportunity to dart back up the stairs. They’re even harder going up than going down, like a malevolent force wants him to stay in the basement forever.

Brendon makes it as far as the entryway of the kitchen before turning around. The kitchen table is full of teenagers playing a card game. Two are Mikey and the other Gay from Paws and Claws. Beyond them is a door to a porch, he can see plumes of smoke curling, but passing them is not an option. The only thing left is to retreat back down the stairs. This time he doesn’t worry about the cascade of shoes, just walks to the first of three doors on the right side of the basement hallway.

Hand on the door, Brendon is interrupted by a black teenager with a diamond printed hoodie asking “already man?”

“Huh?” He almost covers his mouth as he says it, but refrains just in time. Any number of adults would chastise him for it, slang not being a real word, but he highly doubts this guy will care.

“Or just new?”

He’s new to a host of things being introduced here, but there’s no reason to make things worse by explaining that. He settles on “yes.”

“Okay, so that’s the pass out room. There are sleeping bags unzipped and laid out for those that lose dexterity, a bunch of pillows so no one wakes up more stiff than they have to, and a bucket just in case. A lot of us don’t have a designated so we crash here. The pass out room isn’t for hot-boxing, or fucking, just for people that need to crash.”

“I just want a bathroom,” Brendon shrugs.

“Third door.”

The soap is still wet in its dish beside the sink. In need of something to give him a moment to think, Brendon slowly creates a lather. He gives the supposedly moisturizing soap an opportunity to sink into his skin before washing it off. Then he turns off the tap, wipes his hands on one of the mismatched towels, and exits.

“I want you to find me a girlfriend,” are the first words out of his mouth when he finds Alex. It would be his first. He’s been sanctioned by the church to group-date for over a year now. He just hasn’t found a girl of enough interest to make that step, never mind had enough friends to go on an outing with.

“Fine. But there’s something else we need to talk about. Like right now.”

“Okay?”

“I know you want me to babysit you. Which is weird, normally it’s the sober one babysitting the fucked up one, but whatever, I can deal with it. As long as you’re not bailing I don’t care. But I have an important question. Do you want me to drunk or smoke pot?”

What? “Both are illegal.”

“Yes, so are downloading movies and not wearing a seat belt when you drive across a parking lot. It’s winter break and I’m hanging out with thirty close friends. While you should in no way feel pressured to try something, I’m not going to let you pressure me either.” He flips his shaggy bangs off his eyes with a shake of his head, and Brendon wonders not for the first time how someone can be so casual while doing something so obviously criminal.

A white-blonde haired girl whirls around, handful of pretzels in her hand. “I’d recommend pot. When he’s stoned he just laughs at all his own jokes and tweets every five seconds. Drunk he’ll be a lot more lost.”

“Well,” Alex snorts, “I don’t disagree. Except you imply I shouldn’t laugh at my own jokes, while I totally should because I’m hilarious. One might even say high-larious.”

She rolls her eyes “I didn’t imply you’re not funny, I implied you’re a total fuckin’ tool.”

Brendon interrupts the repartee for what’s more important. “I won’t make that decision.” It’s one thing to stay at a party that has intoxicants. It’s totally another to encourage use, and a line he won’t cross.

“Fine, I’ll smoke. Maja’s right, I’ll be better off for it.”

For an hour or so Brendon thinks that Alex has forgotten his request in lieu of getting stoned. He doesn’t want to press the issue yet, so instead he plays pool with those at the table. He wins his game against a girl that calls herself Z, loses against the ‘Bilvy’ he’s heard about -who doesn’t look like the sort to have a mad drug binge or have a mental breakdown, though he doesn’t doubt Alex’s story- and is in the middle of playing the boy -at least he’s pretty sure he’s a boy, he is wearing a vest with a red rose print and white gloves- when a girl in an exceedingly short skirt interrupts him by curling her hand around the end of his cue.

“Hey, I’m Vicky-T.”

“I’m Brendon.”

“You’re pretty cute, Brendon. Sexy hot, even.”

Brendon takes a closer look at her. She’s attractive, and she looks like she could hurt him, which is good. Fragile people are harder to get along with, you always have to worry about doing something wrong. But she’s swaying, a bit. It would be understandable if she was in high heels, but everyone is in socks or bare feet. “Are you drunk?”

“Drunk enough for fun, not drunk enough to not know what consent is. Alex said you wanted me?”

“Um-”

“Don’t think I’d say yes to just anyone. But he says you’re awesome, and you’re pretty hot. So I think I’m gonna want you too.” She starts to pry the pool cue out of his hand and he lets her take it, not wanting her to fall over. She gives to to Bilvy when she’s done, her hand curling in his now free one. “Do you have a car? He doesn’t like people fucking in his bedroom, and we can’t do it in the pass out room, and the bathrooms are starting to have lines.”

“Um. I think. I don’t. Uh.” Brendon takes a deep breath, begging his brain to stop stuttering. “Alex told you the wrong thing. I wanted a girlfriend, not. Um. I don’t have sex.”

“Like, at _all_?” Red Vest seems both shocked and horrified.

Vicky-T just seems confused. “Why not?”

“I’m Mormon.”

“And you’re not allowed to orgasm? Really? Are you allowed to pee? What about other bodily functions? Blinking, are you allowed to blink?” Clearly Red Vest is an atheist. It suits Alex better, Alex isn’t mean about it.

“Ryan, don’t be a dick. Victoria, you’ll have to get your fix somewhere else. Brendon, catch.” Brendon just manages to snag the cue Bilvy tosses at him like a javelin. His other two commands work as well, Red Vest -Ryan, apparently- stays silent, and Victoria wanders off. It’s really hard to believe he’s either an addict or a nutbar.

***

Contrary to his concerns towards pulling up his own corner of the blanket covered floor, Brendon only wakes up twice during the night.

The first time it’s because he has to pee. Once he got used to the vibe it became easier to talk to people, and the later it got the more intoxicated people got, and the more they wanted to talk to him. Almost all had offered to share their 26s with him, and most were vaguely confused but accepting when he’d turned them down. One, Heath, if he’s remembering correctly, asked him multiple times over the course of their Rock Band battles, and every time he said no Heath went and got him another can of soda to drink instead. He could hardly turn those down too, and had ended up chugging five cans of Orange Crush in the span of the hour before he finally, reluctantly crashed. It’s almost no time at all before he wakes with his bladder screaming.

The second time is hours later, when someone else with the same urge stumbles on him. Brendon wakes up to a kick in the side and knees on his abdomen. It’s hard to stay mad though, the girl half on him apologises about seven times as she’s getting to her feet.

The third time he opens his eyes because someone is shaking him and muttering ‘wake up’ close enough to his face that he can smell the mint toothpaste on his breath. The room is lit like it wasn’t the night before, not from the light switch being flicked, or the small nightlight still glowing weakly in the corner, but from a row of windows near the ceiling.

“Are the cops here?” There doesn’t seem to be enough urgency for it to be the issue, not to mention he’s the only one being woken up. But Brendon pays attention when adults impart lessons, he’s heard of the dangers of going to parties with drugs and alcohol. Besides the cost to your wallet and your health, and the addiction, and dirty narcotics that can kill you the first time you try them, there’s also police raiding and arresting people.

“Don’t be stupid. Alex told me your parents wouldn’t be happy if you smelled like smoke. Which you totally do, at least enough that they’ll notice. He’s probably going to wake up in about an hour, if he doesn’t I’ll get him up. So you need to have a shower now, and I’ll wash your clothes. Here.” The teenager thrusts something patterned at him. Brendon looks at it but doesn’t commit to cracking the seal of blanket warmth to take it.

“What’s that?”

“Something of mine to wear while your shit is in the wash. Don’t worry, I don’t have scabies.”

“I didn’t think you did.” He only saw Saporta for a minute last night, not even long enough to talk to him, but there’s nothing about this guy that looks like he has a contagious skin disease.

The shock of cold air as he pushes the sleeping bag to the side isn’t as bad as it could be considering he’s in the basement, the heat must be on. “Anything I can do?”

Saporta shrugs, more a bob of his back as he’s still on his hands and knees. “This is my house and standard rules apply. Don’t drink my dad’s alcohol, don’t go in my parents bedroom. Other than that, it’s a free world, at least sort of. Let’s save the philosophy for the next party though. That shit’s always more fun fucked up.”

He shakes his head. “No, I didn’t say _what can_ I said _is there anything I can do_. Help you rinse cans for recycling or vacuum or something.”

“Nice offer but I’m fine. It isn’t my first clean up, I’ve got a system. Go shower. Leave your clothes outside the door.”

It’s a shower-bath combo, like at home, but Brendon knows he only has time for the first. The soap is different, liquid with a facecloth instead of a bar. Once he works up a lather it smells like coconut, but hopefully no one at home will notice.

The patterned cloth turns out to be either a baggy pair of boxers or a short pair of swimming trunks. It doesn’t matter in the end though, as it’s put them on or walk around naked. Not that wearing only shorts is much better than full nudity, his parents would be horrified. Brendon can’t help but wince at the number of girls still sleeping in the pass out room, the mixed genders makes the entire thing worse.

In the end he grabs one of the blankets and curls it around himself like a cloak before clomping upstairs. He can only hear one person making noise, it has to be less embarrassing to be up there than to still be downstairs when the girls start waking up. The stairs are far easier to navigate, two thirds of the guests having gone home sometime in the predawn hours.

It’s of course Saporta making noise, he’s got the counter cleaned and a frying pan on the stove by the time Brendon enters the kitchen. “I’m making breakfast. If you stick around you can get first slice, it’ll take those bastards a bit to smell it.”

“What are you making?”

“Ten egg omelette. Like my favourite author says, it’s so big it’s not an omelette anymore, just an omel.”

The atmosphere of Saporta’s kitchen is nice, and it only gets better as people slowly start to trickle upstairs. Even with cigarettes between their fingers and throbbing heads propped up by their hands, everyone is either nice or just silent. And everyone digs into their portion of Saporta’s masterpiece. Sometime during the second helping Brendon realises in his haste to cut off slices and chow down his blanket covering has slipped to his waist, and it’s a pleasant shock to realise he doesn’t care. Nobody is laughing at him, or getting angry for a lack of modesty. There’s simply no reason _to_ care, when nobody has even noticed.

It’s with regret that he reminds Alex they need to get back. He doesn’t particularly want to leave, but his parents were no doubt expecting him back before noon, and that deadline has already slipped past. The sooner the less dramatic things will be. Alex grunts his agreement and they stand to go. The one who told him about the pass out room punches him in the shoulder and says he’ll see him next party. Brendon can’t help but hope that’s true.

He’s expecting to run in with Alex and grab his stuff and leave, no more than five minutes lapsed. Instead Alex heads straight for the sun room. Mr Suarez doesn’t appear to have moved an inch in the hours they’ve been gone, only a change of clothes proving otherwise. “Hey dad.”

“You have a good night?”

“Yeah. Colligan was so drunk he started crying when Leighton whooped his ass at poker.” Brendon stares at Alex for the insanity telling his dad of illegal substance use and gambling all in one sentence, and then at Mr Suarez when he doesn’t freak out. This family is strange.

“Poker? I could tell you some good stories. Anyway, you both need a good greasy breakfast to combat the hangover. And then Alex, go to bed, I’ll drive you home Brendon.”

“I didn’t drink.”

Mr Suarez winks at him. “That’s certainly what I’ll tell your sister if she’s waiting on the porch.”

“No dad, he doesn’t drink.”

“And you’re a senior? I didn’t know that was possible. But each to their own. You still need to try my fried eggs before you go. They’re one of the few things Alex hasn’t surpassed me in.”

***

On the dining table his breakfast is waiting for him. A few slices of darkly toasted bread, and the cold and crumbly dregs of the bowl of scrambled eggs his mom must have made hours earlier. Brendon won’t risk microwaving them, or not eating at all. Sometimes it’s hard to tell when they’re making a point.

***

“Brendon, we’re going for a drive.”

Briefly he mourns the loss before pausing the video game. He coils the cord around the controller so nobody trips and subsequently yells at him even though they’d be the one not looking where they were walking. It happens often enough that when he can remember it’s good to prevent it. On his knees in front of the tv he turns it off before standing up and heading to the coat rack at the back door. Kara didn’t phrase it like a request, it’s obvious he has no choice in the matter.

The first five minutes of the drive are silent, just Kara backing the car out of the driveway and heading down the street. Brendon knows better than to think that’s the way it’s going to stay. This isn’t a trip to get groceries, or to go watch a movie at the second run theatre, this in an intervention. An in-car intervention means one of his siblings is going to tell him something they don’t want Mom and Dad to overhear, and whatever it is will undoubtedly be something he doesn’t want to hear.

Sure enough, “you haven’t left the house in five days Brendon.”

Going on the defence never works, but there’s no strategy that does. At least this way he can explain himself, possibly turn the conversation slightly for the better. “I’m studying! Exams are just after Christmas break, I thought you all would be happy I was buckling down. I’m learning to focus, isn’t that Valerie’s reason I didn’t do well at Pine Crest?”

“You’re not volunteering,” she answers.

“I can’t study at a pet store!” He can’t even think there, he barely made it until Mr Sinthe came back.

“Mom and Dad think you should get a job.”

“What?”

“Come on Brendon.” She’s looking at him through the rear view mirror, he can tell. “You’ve spent so much time at home it’s obvious you have nothing to occupy yourself with when you’re not at school. And you’ll be eighteen in a few months. In a year you’ll be going on your mission. You know they’re looking for foreign spots to fill, you need to start gathering money to let you fly across the ocean.”

“I _am_ occupying myself, I’m _studying_! Ask me what organs are in a pig, go on. There’s-” Brendon cuts himself off as he looks up and recognises where they are. “Wait, what are-”

This time it’s Kara that interrupts him. “This is for your own good. If you’re home during the day they’re going to notice, and they’ll demand you start applying places. If you’re here you’re showing you have a passion for something.”

Paws and Claws doesn’t look any different for his absence. Kara pulls into the parking lot and blocks a parked car idling. “You go straight in. I’m not coming to pick you up until four.”

“Kara, I don’t-”

“It’s this or cleaning out grease traps at McDonalds. Come on Brendon, kittens or Big Macs.” There’s no point in saying the kittens are for Mikey, she wouldn’t understand. Left with nothing else, Brendon hops out. She peels away before he even has a chance to ask her for five bucks to buy lunch.

Mikey, Gerard, and Mikey’s...his... the boy with the coloured hair are all standing in front of Gerard’s store, smoking. Brendon keeps his head down as he walks into the pet shop. If they don’t notice him they might stay outside for a longer period.

When Mikey and Hairboy come in, Mikey ignores him as per custom. Hairboy on the other hand comes to a standstill beside him. He asks if he’s had a good week off, and Brendon shrugs, hoping it’ll be a good enough non-committal reply. “Don’t worry, you’re still needed. I’ve just been keeping your spot toasty.”

In his time at Irving Brendon’s learned a lot about innuendo, and Saporta’s party was essentially a test after the crash course. What Hairboy is saying sounds dirty. It must be a homosexual joke, and Brendon has no idea how to fend one of those off. Just like at the party, his response to a dirty joke is staying silent. Quiet means he doesn’t have to come up with his own wittiness, or be mocked for saying he doesn’t want to talk about it.

Unfortunately, Pete -who only thinks to introduce himself an hour in- doesn’t seem to take Brendon’s continuing silence as a hint. He talks non-stop for the entire afternoon, if not to Brendon, than to Mikey, to the dogs, to the other animals while mingling in the other sections, to Mr Sinthe, to Gerard when he pops in later. He even engages a browser in a ten minute conversation about hockey. It would be fascinating, if Brendon could stop thinking about Pete and Mikey having sex every time he has to look at either of them.

The issue is made worse by the fact that they’re very happy together. While it’s obvious that Mikey likes cats and Pete is a dog person, it’s the only thing that they seem to disagree on, and even that is nothing more than Pete asking Mikey how he can stand someone vomiting fur on his pretty new boots. At one point he can hear them kissing, he ducks so he doesn’t have to see. When they’re done Pete whispers _I love you_. Brendon's never heard anyone his age say that they love someone and sound like they mean it.

At two thirty Pete corners him. “It’s recently come to my attention that you’re a fuckin fundie. I don’t know how I didn’t guess it before, you’re not exactly subtle about it. I know you think we're damned or whatever. But we're just helping the animals, and so are you. So if you could _not_ get your fellow brethren to burn down the store like they do abortion clinics that would be great. We might not even be in the building at the time, and then it would be a waste.”

“Mormons don’t kill people!”

“Tell that to Matthew Shepard.”

They’re the last words spoken to him before Kara comes. Brendon’s still thinking about it when he climbs into the car. He doesn’t understand the reference, but remembering the venom in Pete’s voice, it’s obvious it’s something bad. He wants to know what it means, if people of his religion have done something bad no one is talking about. He can’t look it up on the computer at home, the parental controls will let everyone know. There’s only on solution. “Kara, we need to stop at the library.”

“Brendon. I’m hungry, and I want to go home.”

“And I would have been fine staying there. Library or I tell Dad you’ve been watching Grey’s Anatomy.” Joseph Smith would hardly be impressed with blackmail, but sometimes it’s necessary.

“Fine.”

It doesn’t take long to find what he wants to know. All it takes in the search engine is Matthew Shepard Mormon, and it’s laid out for everyone to see. It’s upsetting, and the Gay Panic excuse is even more so. Brendon understands feeling weird around Gay people, but he could never feel weird enough to kill one.

***

“Where do you want to go?” Getting this date was pretty much the entirety of his plan. He should probably have flowers, mints in his pocket, and a table booked at a restaurant or some other nice event with tickets accounted for. Instead all he has is a twenty in his wallet, which is currently digging uncomfortably into his butt as he sits in the passenger seat of Melissa’s car.

“Brendon, _you’re_ the man. You decide.” There’s a chuckle in her voice as she says it, like it’s ridiculous for her to even be asked. Somehow he can’t see Victoria or Maja, or even Alex or Saporta for that matter saying that. It has to be the church influence.

Still, he wants this to go well, and forcing decisions on her when she apparently doesn’t want them won’t help. “Let’s go to a roller skating rink.”

“Sounds fun, great idea!”

Thankfully she doesn’t ask for directions, of which Brendon would have been completely at a loss for. She just drives, belting out the lyrics of the Arcade Fire songs on the mix cd she’s made. As a band with Mormon members Brendon’s heard the discography more times than he can count, and adds his voice for a counterpoint. Within a few songs they’re parking. He waits for her to lock the doors before heading towards the entrance.

As the man it’s his duty to pay both fees and both skate rentals. Lissa stands a foot or two behind him as he walks up to the front desk and digs out his wallet. Luckily he has enough to cover them, though she’ll probably be out of luck if she wants anything from the small concession area. The wall has a long shelf of men’s, women’s, and children’s skates. He grabs a pair in his size and sits on the bench provided, carefully adjusting the laces tighter. He’s got half-sized feet, if he goes the size below they’re always too tight. It’s easier to get a half size bigger and make them fit him.

“Brendon, we got the same colour. Wow, we’re so compatible. Half my clothes are this colour too, what about you?”

He looks between the two sets of aqua laces. He can’t tell her he picked the pair at random, no thought to colour selection. With her making such a big deal about it, saying that would be cruel. “Yeah, I wear a lot of blue.”

“Good. I bet it looks nice on you.” She pauses a second and then looks at him from under a protective wall of bangs. “You know, some of us girls thought you were _never_ going to date.”

“I’m only seventeen.” Lissa and the other girls at church should hardly be gossiping about him, he’s not that interesting. The boys make that obvious, beyond the mandatory friendliness they’re really not keen in engaging with him.

“Yes, but God wants you to find someone to love. You haven’t even gone on any group dates. Brendon, I’m really happy you decided to go on a date with me, even if I don’t understand.” The reason is easy. Everyone at church knows Lissa has a crush on him, she was the one girl he knew he could ask and not be rejected by. But he can’t tell her that either.

“I’m happy to be here. I hope we have a good time.” That much is true.

Once they get into the actual rink area of the roller rink, Brendon becomes more impressed with his decision. It’s a good atmosphere for a date; somewhat romantic due to the darkness and close proximity but still casual enough that neither of them will feel uncomfortable. With his first glide on the floor he spins in a circle and bows at the end of the 360. Rather than applaud Lissa one-ups him with a one footed spin. Brendon laughs and applauds her. He looks away when she blushes. For some reason it strikes him as too intimate.

It’s fun to dance overexaggeratedly, to meet her moonwalk with jazz hands. For a while they just race each other, roller derby without the bruises and provocative skirts. When the finally slow, panting slightly, she slides her sweaty hand into his. Brendon lets his fingers stay between hers as they skate slower around the rink. It doesn’t feel any more special than a memory of holding one of his sister’s hands, but Lissa is smiling and it’s feels nice to make her happy.

The only bump in the date is when a remix of Toxic comes on. Lissa frowns then starts humming Hum Your Favourite Hymn. Brendon has memories attached to the children’s song, and tries to concentrate on Britney Spears. It’s an effort that fails when Lissa turns her frown on him. “Brendon, you’re not _listening_ , are you?”

“I don’t think it can hurt me. They’re words, they won’t make me do bad things, or lose my morals. In fact, the song is making people work harder! Look at how the guy is making the strobe-light match the beat.”

“I dunno, Brendon.”

“So then you hum a hymn, if it makes you happy. What works for me doesn’t have to work for you, it’s okay.” Even if it puts an end to the date and he has to report to an elder on Sunday about morality, he’s not singing that song. It reminds him of adults yelling at him for squirming during music time, and having to sit alone in the Calming Corner, waiting for the feeling of Heavenly Father to soothe him.

She seems to take his words at face value though. She keeps skating, occasionally humming to herself when the DJ’s choice is too risqué, and her hand stays firmly curled in his. Brendon skates along with her. He can’t help but wonder how he’s supposed to know when the date is over. It can’t be when the skating rink closes, it’s only the middle of the afternoon now.

It happens in the parking lot. Brendon’s trudging to the car, trying to ignore the way his legs are aching when Lissa tugs on his arm and puts him off balance. She takes advantage of that to pull him in for a kiss for a second. It’s nothing short of astounding. His first kiss, stretching out longer and longer, far longer than five seconds. And then her tongue is in his mouth, before marriage. It’s so illicit. He doesn’t really know what to do in response so he just keeps his mouth open and lets her use the technique she wants. She’s very enthusiastic, and that’s a problem because as that first surge of adrenaline peters out, nothing replaces it. He’s kissing a girl for the first time -beyond kissing, he’s _necking_ \- and nothing in his body cares. He pushes her gently, keeping up the touch until she takes a step back.

“Lissa, I don’t want to.” It’s scary how much he means that. Really, really scary.

He’s not sure how much his fear shows. Her disappointment and sudden self-loathing are clear as glass. There’s nothing he can say to make it better, so he just climbs into the passenger’s seat when she unlocks the doors and pushes his buckle closed. She doesn’t turn on the cd player, the quiet only serving to make things worse.

Finally she pulls to a stop in front of his house. After fifteen minutes of awkward silence what she says to break it is even worse. “Please don’t think I’m a slut. I know that was a lot and I’m sorry. But I would _never_ go further. I promise!”

“I don’t think you’re a slut. Things happen sometimes. If you feel guilty about it repent. He’ll know, and forgive you.” It’s Brendon that’s not going to be forgiven. Not that he’ll tell her that either.

***

Brendon doesn't dare look up his questions on the home computer. And while it worked as a short term solution the last time he had dangerous inquiries, the public library computer lab truly isn't much better. There are no parental controls to trip him up, in fact only two in the entire bank have filtered internet. But by being public, the library has more people that might happen to read the screen over his shoulder. If that person someone from the church, someone that knows him or his family, he’s in a world of trouble. Not to mention whomever gave him the ride would want to know what he was doing on a public computer that he couldn’t do at home.

The only safe solution is to ask Pete. Kara drops him off at Paws and Claws at ten, still pleased with him for stopping the kiss yesterday. His first date has been the topic of conversation for the entire family for the last day, and out of self preservation Brendon had made sure to only tell them the details they’d want to hear. It takes him a few hours to gather up his courage, but finally he taps Pete on the shoulder. Pete turns, blowing his hair out of his eyes. “What?”

“Can you catch gayness?”

“Are you actually asking me that? Like, for real?”

Brendon shrugs, trying not to blush. It’s not fair for Pete to act like the burdened party, Brendon doesn’t _want_ to be asking, he doesn’t want to have to ask. But how can he make it go away if he’s not even sure he’s got it? Maybe he doesn’t, maybe he’s fine and Lissa was just a bad kisser and Pete and Mikey have nothing to do with it.

Pete doesn’t answer. Of course he doesn’t, because that would be easy and why should anything about this situation be easy? Instead he angles his head towards the cat section and bellows “hey Mikey! Brendon wants to know if he can catch gay!”

Brendon's never been more grateful for Mr Sinthe not actually caring at all about his business or the animals -and the way he’s been out of the store more than he’s been in it- than he is now. With Mr Sinthe gone who knows where, and no customers having come in yet this morning, it's only the three of them. There’s a slim window of hope that Mikey won’t care, that Pete is the only one that’s going to make a big deal of it. Then Mikey wanders over, a ball of fur that’s only vaguely distinguishable as a cat in his arms. He’s smirking slightly, Brendon’s had ample time to notice all of his expressions are slight. Pete watches him enter too, and it’s impossible to miss the look that passes between them.

Brendon only has the briefest of moments to wonder if gays are telepathic before it happens. With nothing close to a warning, Pete pounces forward, hands on his hips as he kisses him, and holy shit that is a _tongue_. In his _mouth_. A small portion of his brain points out that he totally just used vulgar language and blasphemed in the same sentence, but the vast majority of him doesn’t care. Pete tastes like hot chocolate and cigarettes, and Brendon’s not allowed to have either but it’s brilliant against his tongue. Everywhere Pete is touching him is tingling, from the fingers loosely curled around his hips, to the press of Pete’s right thigh and knee to his left, to the hair that should be tickling his cheekbone but isn’t.

When Pete pulls away it’s second-hours-days-a lifetime too soon, and the smirking grin on his face is a harsh fall back to reality. “So, have you been contaminated with The Gay? Do you want to take up interior decorating and hairdressing?”

Mikey giggles. It's the first time in the four months Brendon’s ever heard the sound, and it shatters everything to pieces. He’s a man, or nearly a man at least, and he shouldn’t be so weak, but there are tears trickling down his face and there’s no way to take them back. He doesn’t want it, but Pete's kiss was good, Lissa's wasn't. And it's wrong, it's wrong, he can't like it, he can’t be like this, but he is, and he doesn’t know how to make the feelings _stop_.

Pete’s backpedalling. “Dude, what? I didn’t want you to _cry_. What? Stop it. Dude, stop.”

He can’t stop. He might never stop. With one action he’s doomed himself to the telestial kingdom, if that. He might not even make it there. Everyone will be devastated, he’ll be dragging everyone in the family down with him. Families survive beyond death, they’ll always be a unit. He’ll be the faulty brushstroke, ruining the eternal picture.

Brendon’s still crying when Mikey puts down the cat and comes over to hug him. He’s taller close up, the only person in the world that would wear expensive clunky boots to a place where poop is not just a possibility but a way of life. Brendon curls into his arms, hoodie sleeves transferring cat hair all over him. He smells like cigarettes and oranges, and it's nothing like the smells of family and his church, his normal comfort places, but somehow Brendon still feels safe.

Mikey makes no move to pull away, or slap him on the back to make the hug manly enough. He just stands there and lets Brendon soak in as much comfort as he can. It takes time for his brain to reconcile the life he’s lived with his new truths, and it’s only when that’s settled that he’s able to stop crying. The words come out choppy, almost stuttered, but undeniable. “I think I did. Catch it. Or whatever. I am.”

The shrug ripples through Mikey’s chest, pressed close Brendon feels it rather than sees it. “It's not like it's a thing.”

“I didn’t mean to make you cry. But hey, maybe you’re not even fully gay! You can be bi or whatever!”

As much as he feels scared and overwhelmed, in that moment he almost wants to laugh. He’s never heard a counselling speech so straightforwardly bad. Every person at church is so much more eloquent. Not that that matters, it’s unlikely he’ll be sharing in their passionate speeches again.

“I don’t really know if I should get in on this hug, my family doesn’t really hug. But being upset sucks, so, uh. Do you want to smoke a bowl? Or no, probably not, you’re religious. Do you want a puppy? Or do you want to go home and chill? Because I'll totally cover you if you want to leave. It’s not like the boss’ll notice anyway.”

Going home is definitely not the answer. The minute he goes home is the minute all of this becomes real and the consequences start. Kara wouldn’t come to the store anyway, even if he did call for an early pick up. But he’s not really up for explaining that, so he shrugs against Mikey. One of Mikey’s arms lifts off his back to gesture at Pete, and a moment later Mikey’s pulling away. Brendon instinctively follows, still needing the comfort, but Mikey determinedly dodges.

Before he has the chance to feel entirely dejected Pete’s back with Stretch, one of Paws and Claws new daschund puppies. With an adorable baby dog thrust into his arms, it’s hard to remain entirely miserable. At four pm his life will change, but until then he’s got a black and brown face staring at him, begging to play. For now, it’s enough.

***

His backpack is heavy on his back, straps digging into his shoulders, but it doesn’t seem heavy enough, not for seventeen years of needs and wants. Never mind that it’s crammed to capacity, and if he’d tried to put anything else inside the zipper probably would have broken open, it’s still not heavy enough. Taking it off when he gets inside Paws and Claws makes Brendon lightheaded with panic, so he settles it beside his feet, blocking one of the cages. Esquire needs to see his surroundings less than Brendon needs it right next to him. The feeling subsides after a few deep breaths, but no doubt it’ll come back again. It’s probably a survival technique.

Pete comes in the room grinning, an expression that only expands when he says good morning to him. For a moment Brendon wonders if yesterday’s emotions changed things that much, considering that since halfway through Pete’s first day the teen has haughtily ignored him. But _did my mental breakdown make me more accessible as a human being_ isn’t the kind of thing you ask another guy, or anyone at all, really, so he just says good morning back.

Eventually Pete’s foot nudges the bulging bag and along with the movement he asks “planning a four course lunch?”

Brendon opens his mouth to answer. The words don’t come, stuck in his throat, brain, heart. He swallows hard and tries again. “Actually, Pete, this is all my stuff.”

“What, like, all of it?” Pete snorts. “It looks like it’s like fifty pounds.”

“Uh. Yeah. It is. My parents asked me to not come back after volunteering today.”

“Aren’t you kinda old for sleepovers?”

“No.” How can he be this dense? Saying it once is bad enough, having to explain multiple times only makes the feeling worse and worse. “I can’t come back to the house. Ever. Or until I repent of my sins. Except I prayed, I’ve been praying, and I don’t think it’s going to go away. So ever, probably.”

“Oh my God! What?” Pete’s shouting, but it’s less the volume that makes Brendon wince, and more the blasphemy. He turns his head towards the cat section and yells again. “Mikey!”

“What?”

“Mikey!”

Probably aware that Pete will just keep shouting until he comes, Mikey comes out of the back. His black hoodie is covered in grey hair, skullcap pulled down low, almost to the rim of his glasses. He looks exhausted, and his words don’t sound especially patient, for as far as his tone reveals anything. “Whhhhhhhat, Pete? I told you, you want coffee you can go get it yourself. I don’t-”

“The fuckers kicked him out for ‘sinning’! The motherfucking son of a bitch asshole douchenozzles kicked him out, like the cuntlicking whores they are! Goddamn it, how could parents do that to a kid? How is it that every fucking set of parents on the motherfucking Earth are fucking evil? Is there some kind of law that says once you have kids you must make their lives as difficult and miserable as fucking possible?” With each word Brendon feels a bit more off kilter. Pete’s enthusiasm is almost like a sermon, except it’s against people he’s been taught to respect and love, and every second word is a curse, and it doesn’t seem like he’ll be stopping for even long enough to take a breath any time soon. “What kind of fucking horrible people say ‘oh, you don’t meet my motherfucking expectations so I’m just going to make sure you _torture_ yourself into being a better person’? I fucking hate every-”

Mikey raises his voice above Pete’s rant. “Stop it. Does it look like that’s _helping_ him?”

“Fuck this!” Pete turns and storms away.

A moment later the door chime goes off, and Brendon knows that it’s not just for a cigarette. Pete, Mikey, and Gerard always smoke together. It’s not his place to chase after him, he’s not Pete’s boyfriend. He probably couldn’t anyway, every muscle he has is shaking like he’s got hypothermia, and it takes a hand on a cage to keep him steady. A voice in the back of his head reminds him spitefully he should get used to shaking, once he’s living on the street he’ll be shivering with cold all the time, but he tries to ignore it. He has a few hours to call places and find a shelter placement, there’s no guarantee that he’ll need to live in a box.

“Calm down, Brendon.”

“I didn’t mean to cause problems,” he answers softly. In the last twenty four hours that’s all he’s done. He’s been doing it his whole life, really. Maybe if he’d been better, he wouldn’t be in the situation he is now.

“Don't worry about it. He's just going home to blog. He'll write like five entries about why the world sucks, why his parents suck, and why yours do, and then he'll calm the hell down. Er, calm down. Sorry, I guess.”

Mikey’s the first person that has ever apologised for cursing in front of him. Brendon wonders if that’s enough to declare a friendship. He doubts his fellow homeless will show the same courtesy.

“Look, stay here, and, like, hold down the fort. Or whatever.”

With that simple directive, Mikey leaves the store too. It might be wrong, but he hopes that Mikey can get to Pete’s house and cheer him up in time to save their relationship. They might suffer for it later, but now at least they can be happy together. There’s not a lot of fort to hold, he just needs to refill some of the water bowls before settling down with Sniffler. He just needs a minute of happiness before he starts to deal with his future.

The door chimes again too soon, less than ten minutes after he left. Brendon doubts it’s a customer, but he dutifully goes to the front anyway. Mikey’s just inside the door, not with Pete, but with his brother. “Brendon this is Gerard, Gerard, this is Brendon. He's going to be using your room.”

It’s pretty obvious he’s missed a large part of this conversation. “Um, huh?”

“A week after Christmas I go back to school, and living in my shitty little dorm- Ow, fuck,” he adds, looking down at Mikey’s dirty footprint on the leg of his jeans.

“Don’t say shitty. Or fuck. It freaks him out.”

Brendon wouldn’t go that far, but it’s with some relief that he notices Gerard’s cleaned up language as he explains that he’ll be gone until summer so if he wants to share a bed or sleep on the couch until January he’s got a room to himself after that.

“Uh. Shouldn’t you ask your parents first?” Inviting someone over for twenty minutes without asking would have been grounds for punishment, never mind inviting someone to live with him.

Gerard has the same smirking smile Mikey does, the only difference are his teeth are much smaller. “My grandma Elena would kick my dad's ass if he said a poor orphan couldn't stay in a spare room where no one would even notice him.”

The word orphan is sort of a kick to the heart, and he’s not the only one that can sense it, Mikey is staring at Gerard for it. But he gets that Gerard's trying to help, painful phrasing or not. And it’s not like he can say no. He doesn't even know where homeless shelters are in this city, and he’s not sure he wants to stay at one anyway. He’s heard bad stories about bums peeing on people and stealing their things, he doesn’t want that for himself.

“Thank you.”

Instead of replying, Gerard hugs him. It’s answer enough.

***

The Way house is different, in every possible sense of the word. It smells different, cigarette smoke and orange air freshener sprayed each time someone uses the bathroom. It sounds different, if someone plunked a swear jar on the kitchen table they’d have enough to buy a mansion by the end of the week. And it certainly feels different.

He’s exhausted by nine. It’s only an hour earlier than his normal bed time, and the stress of the last twenty-four hours has really gotten to him. Coupled with that are the Ways being enthusiastic in seemingly every phrase they utter and thing they do -aside from Mikey, who has been texting since the minute he climbed into the passenger seat of Gerard’s car- and he just needs to crash. There’s no reason to stay up, Mikey and Gerard don’t give off the vibe of needing to be impressed to keep his rooming invitation, so Brendon pulls his pyjamas out of his backpack and changes in the bathroom before crawling into Gerard’s bed. He winces a bit as he adjusts the pillow under his head. The sheets are dry, but stiff, and they smell like Pepsi. Gerard must have spilled at dinner. It’s another weird thing about the Way house; they don’t eat at the table as a family. Mr and Mrs Way -he cannot call them Don and Donna, he just can’t- and Elena had sat in front of the tv, Mikey had eaten at the computer, and Gerard hadn’t left his bedroom for hours after getting home. There’s a half dried painting drying on a screw sticking out of the wall that explains his absence.

It’s pitch black, clearly the middle of the night, when Brendon wakes up to Gerard crawling in beside him. The bed is a double, so there's really not all that much room to shift and allow him room. Even three blinks from falling back asleep, it’s easy to tell that Gerard is definitely not wearing long sleeve long legged pj's. In fact, he's pretty sure Gerard's just wearing boxers. Which means it’s time to give his bed back. Brendon struggles to untangle the sheet around his feet ungrudgingly. The couch in the multi-purpose room that takes up the other half of the basement is still better than a cot at a shelter.

“Where the hell are you going?”

He doesn’t see why he has to answer that, when the answer is so obvious. “...couch?”

“Stay here. It's warm here. And less lumpy, the couch in the basement is a piece of shit. I wouldn’t want a dog from your store to sleep on it, never mind you.”

Brendon panics, and in that moment blurts out _I’m gay_. Just because he caught it unfairly doesn't mean it’s okay to pass it on to innocent people who are just trying to help him.

Gerard doesn’t seem to connect the dots. “And I'm mostly straight. Point?”

“I don't want you to catch it.” Duh.

Brendon can practically hear the train screeching on the rails of Gerard's brain. All of a sudden Gerard's out of bed and the light is on, forcing Brendon to blink until the colours equalize. Gerard is pacing the cluttered floor of his room, not really noticing he's stepping on sketchbooks and comics and clothes. “Did someone tell you you could catch gayness?”

“Pete didn't tell me, but he confirmed it.”

Gerard repeats him slowly, each word it's own sentence. “Pete. Confirmed. You'd. Caught. Gayness.”

He doesn’t give him a chance to agree before he's grabbing Brendon's hand and tugging him out of bed. Brendon follows him through the basement, feeling more uncomfortable with each step. At his house you don’t leave your room until you’re dressed, and if you need to pee in the middle of the night you put a house robe over your pyjamas. The only time he’s ever experienced different was at Saporta’s house party, which is an entirely different situation. There everyone was hung over and uninhibited. This is a family home, and this is not okay. It’s totally inappropriate, and that’s even before he has a chance to consider the state of Gerard. Gerard is in tiny boxers, and Brendon's not looking, he swears he isn't, but Gerard's a few stairs ahead of him and the hole is right in front of his face.

Even once they’re up the stairs Gerard keeps his hand clamped on Brendon’s wrist. Halfway down the hall he literally kicks a door open. Mikey doesn't even look up from his laptop, the only light in the dark room, just says “dramatic much?”

Gerard's reaction is to become even more dramatic, and pump up the volume to boot. “Your boyfriend told Brendon he caught gayness!”

Mikey still doesn’t look up from his rapidfire typing when he answers “he's not my boyfriend.”

“The guy you fuck a lot and totally love then! Whatever, like I fucking care about semantics, Jesus! All I care is why! Why!”

From down the hall Mr Way bellows “Shut up!” Brendon flinches, automatically flashing to waking up at six in the morning for an extra hour of prayer when one of them messed up too badly. But neither Gerard nor Mikey seem to care, or even really notice.

“He was being Pete.”

“Oh, you mean acting like a dumb ass?” Gerard retorts.

Mikey sighs and rolls his eyes. “Look, he thought Brendon was being a jerk homophobic Mormon. I mean, he didn't even ask my name for four months because I was the big evil heathen goth. Pete wasn't really wanting to give him a lot of credit. He asked if you could catch it, Pete rolled his eyes and said yes.”

“Well tell him you can’t, assface!” Gerard turns to Brendon when Mikey doesn’t take initiative. “You can’t catch your sexuality. You’re born with it. And _not_ in a ‘it's in a single piece of DNA let's cure this like it's diabetes’ kind of way. In a ‘some people like sports, some people like art’ kind of way. Get it?”

Brendon kind of shudder nods. He's still expecting trouble from Mr and Mrs Way, some sort of follow-up comment and associated punishment. Seeing Gerard and Mikey fight makes it more surreal, fighting isn't something his siblings did either. Besides, it's not one hundred percent helpful to know that he was doomed from birth, even if Gerard is trying to help.

“Well, good then. Let’s go back to bed.” He’s smiling and Mikey tosses a hand up to wave goodnight, never having looked away from his conversation. It’s obvious understanding their dynamics is going to take more than a few hours. Then Gerard frowns, and Brendon’s nerves rise. He really doesn’t want more shouting. “Oh, wait! If you didn't know that, do you know _anything_ about being gay? Like, how it feels being fucked, and how your partner needs to prepare you first and-”

Mikey sighs. “Could we please not have sex-ed in my bedroom at three in the morning?”

At that Gerard gets indignant. “It's not like you’re sleeping, you’re still wearing your jeans! And it's very important for Brendon to know these things, otherwise his first time could hurt and that-”

“I'm not having sex until I get married,” Brendon interjects. It’s both true, and a perfect way to end this conversation before it gets too distressing. What it isn’t, is something they take well. Both Gerard and Mikey look at Brendon like he just said he doesn't believe in God, or that Joseph Smith wasn't a prophet.

After a few moments silence, Gerard starts ranting again. “But you can't even _get_ married yet! Unless you move to Canada, the land of the free! And you _can't_ not have sex! Mutual orgasms between two or more people that respect each other is the best way to celebrate sexuality!"

“Or hooking up in a bathroom,” Mikey mutters, but Gerard valiantly ignores him.

“I don't.”

“I know! That’s the problem!”

“No, not have sex. I meant, um. Orgasm.”

“At _all_?!” counterpoint to Gerard’s shouting is Mikey’s silence, but Gerard is mostly still and Mikey looks like he's going to faint.

“No. Mormons don’t do that stuff. You’re supposed to be sexually pure.”

Pacing in Mikey’s room is more difficult, his piles of clothes are higher. Gerard stops when a CD case crunches under his foot and makes do with waving his arms erratically. “That is _not_ healthy sexuality! Do you want me to give you a handjob? I respect you as a human being, I swear. Mikey, should I give him a handjob?”

That, at least, makes Mikey’s head dart up. “Not in my room! Not while I’m _here_!”

This is all getting extremely out of hand. Brendon gathers up his courage and says “if you're going to touch me I am going to sleep on the couch.” There have to be steps between being a gay person, and fornicating with a possible friend’s older brother.

“Okay, if you don't feel comfortable I won’t do shit. But promise me you'll masturbate?”

“Jesus Christ Gerard, are you going to set up a schedule for him too? Go the fuck to bed, you have to get up for work in five hours.”

“Yeah, and so do you.”

“Yeah, but I can’t get fired. Holiday job or not, you need the hours.”

Gerard seems to agree with that, at least. He says goodnight to Mikey and leaves the room, leaving Brendon to attempt the same. Mikey’s not really a small talk person though, he nods his own goodnight, and goes back to typing. Brendon doesn’t ask who he’s talking to so late at night, it’s none of his business.

***

Brendon wakes up when Gerard kicks him. It’s probably an accident, Gerard is not the easiest bed partner, always rolling around and stretching in his sleep. He’ll apologise if Brendon mentions it, but he doesn’t ever remember doing anything if Brendon doesn’t bring it up. Normally it’s easy to get back to sleep, the moment the movement stops he drops back off. This morning is different, Gerard seems to be wriggling his way through the bed. Brendon cracks open an eye to see why. The answer is immediate; Elena is standing holding out a cardboard cup of coffee. Gerard’s already in his hand, inhaling the fumes like a normal person smells vanilla extract or perfume.

“We weren’t sure if you liked coffee, but it’s a tradition here, and trust me when I say it won’t last five minutes if you decide you don’t want it.”

Of course. It has to be Christmas. Without the cues of his household; the decorating and the baking and church carolling, there’s been nothing to bring the date forward in his mind. Not even the days of the week help, he’s been going to Paws And Claws every day.

“I’m not supposed to drink hot beverages, but that doesn’t really matter now, does it.” It still does, in his head, but denying the hospitality of Mikey and Gerard’s grandmother hardly seems like the best reaction. He can apologise to God for the coffee later, presuming that repenting smaller sins matters when he won’t for bigger. Brendon takes the cup from her spotted hand and has a sip. It’s awful, bitter and grainy on his tongue, but he doesn’t make a face. Looking revolted is just as rude as refusing it in the first place.

“Got anything awesomely tacky and knitted?”

“Uh, no?” The Uries never went the Christmas sweater route, his Mom and Dad both preferring to look respectable over gaudy. He’s not even sure he has anything red or green stuffed into his backpack, he’s always been a blue and purple sort of guy.

“That’s too bad. I don’t have any either. One day I’ll live with a man or woman that has a grandma that knits all year long, and I’ll have epic sweaters. Maybe some of those tiny lights sewn in, or something.” Gerard smiles at the thought and pulls on a pair of sweatpants over his several days old boxers. Brendon doesn’t bother to wait until Gerard’s left the room to change into clothes for the day. One of the first lessons unravelled by living at the Way house was modesty, half the time they don’t even bother to close the door when they use the bathroom.

It’s with a heavy heart that he follows Gerard up the stairs to the living room. He’s not sure he can imagine a more awkward situation than having to be present and observing someone else’s Christmas. The Ways don’t seem to sense the awkwardness, Gerard just throws himself down on the shaggy orange carpet beside Mikey. The youngest Way has a baggie of Starbursts scattered on the floor and is sorting the colours into four piles.

“Brendon, we weren’t sure of your favourites, so we got you an assortment.”

“What? I mean pardon?” It’s not that he didn’t hear Mr Way, he just doesn’t understand.

“It’s a tradition,” Gerard explains. Pulling what must be at least six pounds of jellybeans from his stocking, he undoes the twist tie and plucks out a few yellows. “The stocking is Christmas breakfast, enough sugar to cause a diabetic coma.”

Unlike the five Way stockings, different colours of metallic fabric with the same Holly leaf embroidery, the stocking Mr Way hands to him is an obvious last minute dollar store buy. But it’s stuffed with candy, and no one waits expectantly to hear gratitude, everyone just digs into their own. It’s like they don’t have a problem with him infringing on their traditions.

“You remember what we were talking about the other day?” Gerard asks through a mouthful of half dissolved yellow beans.

“Uh,” is a more diplomatic answer than _not at all_. Mikey talks more at home than he does at work, but most of his words go through his phone or his laptop. From what Brendon’s experienced, Gerard picks up the slack and talks enough for the both of them. Talks enough for three or four people, really, unless he’s hidden away in his room working on something. Even then it’s not like he’s forbidden Brendon from entering, Brendon just doesn’t like the idea that he’s interrupting someone’s personal time.

“Have you started jerking off yet?”

The reactions of the room would probably be fascinating sociologically -at least Brendon assumes, he only knows about the class what he’s heard from Alex- if he wasn’t so horribly mortified. Mr and Mrs Way don’t tell Gerard off for talking about something so inappropriate, they just completely ignore it and continue to eat their macaroons. Mikey looks interested, with the amount of time he spends with Pete, Mikey probably thinks he’s some sort of robot for not fornicating.

It’s the eldest Way that speaks when the silence grows and it becomes obvious Brendon’s not going to reply. “It’s none of your business whether or not Brendon pleasures himself.”

“But I’m-”

“Gerard. No.”

Brendon throws Elena a red-faced look of gratitude, and at her acknowledging wink drives his hand into a baggie of chocolate covered pretzel bits. The less said about this conversation the better.

After everyone’s full, Mrs Way asks if it’s time to get the show on the road. To a room of agreement, Mikey crawls to the tree and hands each person a present. It’s weird to be opening gifts so early, at home gifts giving comes after Christmas dinner. It’s weirder still that Mikey gives him a box covered in penguin wrapping paper. He’s not part of their family, they shouldn’t be giving him presents. When he tries to explain that he’s thankful, but it’s not necessary Mikey tells him to shut up.

“No, but-”

“I’m pretty sure my son told you to shut up. Open your present, Brendon. It’s not much anyway. I don’t know what you’re used to, but here we get a handful of small things, and one big thing.”

Brendon doesn’t know how to tell Mr Way that at home each sibling gave everyone else one present, and for the most part it was what they thought you should want, not what you did, so he just tears into the paper. Inside the box is a pair of purple and white skate shoes. The regular white shoelaces have been replaced with children’s laces, smiling bunnies on a black background. It’s not a book of study techniques, or professional flash cards, or a CD of gospel music. It’s a pair of ridiculous shoes that don’t fit the personal style of anyone in the room, and still someone thought it was okay to get them.

“Thank you.” His voice is thick, and he barely holds himself in from hugging everyone in the room.

“If they don’t fit we’ve got the receipts, we can return them,” Mrs Way says casually. Brendon nods blankly. If they don’t fit he’ll shave off the sides of his feet, because these aren’t being returned.

His big gift comes maybe an hour later, after more ‘small’ presents, and bathroom breaks and Gerard stopping to get a cloth when a half eaten Mars bar melts under his butt and smears all over the carpet. The wrapping paper is green and covered in smiling Santa Clauses, and Brendon almost doesn’t want to open it. He’s not ready for this to be over yet. Unlike the other presents however, they’re all opening theirs one at a time, and he’s second up, and Gerard looks like he’s going to throttle him if he doesn’t get his turn soon.

“What do you think?”

“Alex said that you told him you liked to play music, so we figured,” Mikey trails off, and it’s only then that Brendon notices he hasn’t texted the whole morning. Clearly the holiday means something to him too.

“Well I already know how to play bass, but a refresher would be good.” He’s spent his life thinking _it’s the thought that counts_ , never even wiping off his smile to say it. It’s the first time he’s truly meant it, not just used it as a blanket to cover disappointment. The Ways cared enough to get Mikey to contact the one person that knows stuff about him, how can he possibly be disappointed about something that comes from that?

“Screw it, we’ll trade. You can have the huge box that is so obviously hiding a new iPod, and I’ll have bass lessons.”

“No, it’s okay, really-”

“Shut up. I’ll be the next Les Claypool.” Mikey deftly reaches over and plucks the gift certificate off his lap and shoves a silver box with teddy bears printed into the space left. Brendon lets him take it. Maybe some time in the future they can play a song together.

***

“Last day today,” Pete comments, words a calm contrast to the way Stretch is frantically trying to drag the rope out of his hand.

“No, we have until the ninth. Three weeks off, public school is awesome.” Not that the classes are bad, but in a week’s time he’ll have to start waking up early again.

“I don’t go to Irving.”

“What?” Brendon’s sure he would have noticed someone that looked like Pete at Pine.

“Dude, I’m in college. Classes start Wednesday, thanks to Christmas and New Years both falling on a Sunday.”

Brendon looks at Mikey, who seems entranced with Pete and Stretch’s battle. “You’re dating a college man?”

“He’s not that much older than me, and Mom and Dad are hardly going to cry statutory.”

“And lucky for us, I’m the older one, and my total tool parents can’t do shit.”

Brendon’s not really in the mood for talking about parents. “I’m gonna wash the front window, it’s really gross.” It’s partially an excuse to get away, but it’s the truth. In the five months he’s been in the shop he’s sure they haven’t been washed once. It’s almost grey.

The cleaning supplies are buried in the back closet. It’s probably a bad sign that they’re all coated with a layer of dust. But as far as he knows Windex doesn’t have an expiry date, using it when it’s old shouldn’t make it suddenly corrosive and eat through the glass. Even if it does, it would probably look pretty cool. When he comes out, sneezing, Pete’s alone with Stretch, still wrestling for the rope.

The job doesn’t take long, aside from rewetting the places that dried streaky. Maybe he can convince Mr Sinthe that they need some of those soap markers, and Gerard can draw some sort of pet inspired scene. Gerard’s a great artist, if the work he’s doing before he goes back to university is any indication. Brendon will just have to convince him he doesn’t have to do a scene with gore or tentacles. The pile of nasty paper towels go in the garbage, and Brendon resigns the Windex back to the supply closet, knowing it won’t come out again until he takes it out.

There’s no indication something strange is about to happen when he enters the dog section again. It’s just one moment he’s standing, the next Pete’s hands are on his shoulders, pressing him relentlessly back. When there’s no more room to move back, just the row of cages, Pete pins him, and the tiny poles of the cages are digging into his back as Pete starts kissing him. Brendon opens his mouth, just to ask what's going on, not for anything else. Pete takes the opportunity to slips his tongue in Brendon’s mouth. He tastes the same as the first time, cigarettes and chocolate, and this time his entire body sparking doesn’t make him want to cry, just makes him want more.

This time, though, Pete’s hands don’t stay on his hips. One snakes between the cages behind him and his body, stopping on his butt. The other strays even more dangerously, cupping his crotch. Brendon can’t help bucking into the hard curve of Pete’s fingers. No one has ever touched him like this before. It’s impossible to say how long Pete kisses him, slowly rubbing the fly of his jeans with enough pressure that if Pete’s mouth wasn’t on him would moans would be filling the air. And then there are two hands opening his zipper and there’s a brief moment of cold before Pete’s hand is touching skin.

Brendon pushes Pete off a little, enough to reclaim his mouth. He wants to say it's wrong, everything about this is wrong, but instead what comes out is, “not in front of the dogs.”

Pete snorts, then grins. “Dude, I jerk off with Hemmingway in the room all the time. Not my fault his bed is in the computer room.”

There is a hand on his dick and Brendon shouldn't be doing this for a dozen different reasons. But he's never even touched himself, just waited for an erection to go away, like God expects of his children. He doesn’t know how to say no. He doesn’t want to say no, so even if Pete stopped this moment he’d still be a sinner for wanting it, so what does it matter?

Pete's hand is warm, fingers a tight circle around his dick, the other steadying him against the cage. No prayer in the world could stop him from coming, not with the burn that’s in his stomach and rapidly heating his thighs and darting up his spine. He comes, spilling into Pete’s hand, and his head jerks backwards with the force of it, rattling the metal behind him. There’s no pain, just the need to spit out a hundred different expletives he’s never used before and make this feeling happen again and again and again.

Only once he’s got his eyes open, able to look at the world around him, does Pete let go of his dick. He takes a step back and raises his hand to his mouth. It’s wet with come, and Pete licks the fluids off. Brendon shudders, unable to look away. It shouldn't be hot, but it _is_. Palm wet but clean, Pete snickers. “It never tastes good, you know? But it's totally worth it to see the looks on people's faces.”

It’s a grand total of about fifteen minutes before Brendon starts to freak out. Having gay sex is one thing. That line was verbally crossed two weeks ago, crossing it physically doesn’t make it a whole heck of a lot worse. But cheating with someone to have it is another thing entirely. Mikey has said that he and Pete aren’t boyfriends, but they love each other as much as any other couple Brendon’s seen. Maybe Pete didn’t consider that cheating, but Brendon has to.

He doesn’t want to have this conversation, but he can’t lie to Mikey. Mikey helped him, thanks to him he’s not sleeping on a cot with fifty other people, wondering if someone is going to start a fight with him for eating the last butterpan bun. He deserves to know. Even if he tells Gerard and Elena and Mr and Mrs Way, and they decide Brendon can’t stay with them any longer for doing something so bad to Mikey, it’s still better that he knows. He checks the fly on his jeans and wanders into the cat section to let him know.

Mikey shrugs. It’s impossible to read his face, and the worry makes the words tumble out of his mouth. “I didn’t mean to! I didn’t even do anything, he just touched me! But I didn’t stop him. I’m so sorry!”

He shrugs again, then seems to decide that’s not a clear enough answer. “You know I texted him that you were a virgin and he needed to seduce you, right? I thought you might not want me or Gee because we're like your new family or whatever.”

There’s nothing to say so he just stares, then follows when Mikey wanders into Pete’s room. “Jerking him off on the dogs? _That’s_ your seduction? So much fail.”

Pete shakes his head, grin spread over his face. “It worked, didn't it? He got off. You owe me a Ice Capp.”

***

After Gerard drives them home, Mikey goes to his room, and Brendon follows Gerard to theirs. For someone that needs to leave in the next two days, he’s got nothing ready, nothing packed or even organised. But it’s hardly the primary thought in his head. “Mikey asked his boyfriend to get. To help me lose. To-”

“Pete jerked you off. Yeah, Mikey texted me.”

Brendon doesn’t get angry often. It’s not behaviour fitting a Mormon, and he doesn’t have the temperament for it anyway. But this is just ridiculous. “Does he text everyone _everything_?”

Gerard doesn’t take offence to the shouted question, just shrugs much like his brother does. “Yeah, pretty much. For the record though, you are worth far more than an Ice Capp. I really hope you don't associate your value with-”

“This entire family is insane!” Between them accepting a perfect stranger into their house, the grandmother willing to talk about masturbation, Mikey’s apparent addiction to texting and instant messaging, and the way no one seems to need more than two hours of sleep, Brendon’s never met a more mental group of people.

“I dunno. Dad's pretty normal.” Gerard scuttles to his knees on the bed and leans forward precariously to hug Brendon. “Calm down. Mikey wanted to help you become a normal teenager, Pete had his fun, there’s no drama, and it’s all good. You are officially no longer repressed and sad.”

***

Apart from his first day, this is the first time Brendon’s had to walk from Paws And Claws to school. It’s not long of a walk though, and it’s made better by the company. With Pete separated from them and busy at college, Mikey seems both more drawn into his text messaging, and more willing to talk to the people around him.

According to Mikey, the whole of this and next week will be pretty slack, teachers handing out class time to finish final projects, along with time for revision before exams start during the last week of January. They don’t have to volunteer during exam week, but they’re supposed to start again the first day of second semester. In past years Brendon would have been happy about the extra free time. He would have used it to attempt studying so he didn’t disappoint everyone; chained to a table even though the sitting down and rereading method isn’t very compatible with his ADHD. This semester though, he’s not very concerned. Cooking is a practical, every student has an hour to make a dish. In English their project is worth far more than the exam, and he’s sure they’ll impress everyone with their varied articles about clouds. Math and biology are the hard ones, but he can manage.

When they arrive at Irving, instead of going in Mikey leads Brendon around the grounds to a part of the school he’s not used to visiting. He’s been through the smoker doors a grand total of once, the day Alex demanded he help him take pictures of the sky. Now that he knows who he’s looking at, a surprisingly high number of those clustered at the bike rack beside the doors are from Saporta’s party. Not all of them are actually smoking, most are just chatting for the few minutes they have before the bell rings reminding everyone that school actually isn’t just for socialising.

Alex is among the group, he nods his head at Brendon but continues talking to his friends. Brendon spends a minute in a conversation with Victoria and Ryland about who has better legs for a short skirt, bowing out of declaring a real position by pointing out they’re both wearing jeans and it’s impossible to tell. When Brendon excuses himself, impressed with his ability to not burst into coughing under a cloud of smoke -rooming with Gerard for two weeks was intense but successful training- Alex follows.

“So, tell me. What your winter break was like? Did you get anything awesome? Are Mormons allowed to fuck around on Jesus’s birthday? Oh, hey! Did you make cookies, and slash or do you want a recipe for some bad ass sugar cookies? I mean it’s too late to make them for Christmas, but you could be a pro by the time Easter rolled around. If Mormons celebrate Easter?”

The questions are rapid-fire, but luckily they’re close to the hallway his locker is in. If he can just hold out for a bit longer he can avoid answering. The fewer people he has to talk to about getting kicked out, the better. Gerard, Mikey, and Pete knowing is a big enough number.

Of course, because that’s the way life seems to be working lately, Kevin is standing in front of his bank of lockers. “Valerie told us what happened.”

Brendon ignores Kevin, moving around him to reach for his combination. There’s nothing he can say that will make it right in the eyes of the church and the worshippers, even if he’s not entirely certain God hates him.

“She told us all how you’re bowing to Satan. How you’re letting him in to ruin the family plan. Are you trying to bring them down with you?”

That accusation hurts. If anything, he’s worked to distance himself from them, so he doesn’t cause them trouble. “I moved out, I’m-”

“Am I supposed to feel sorry for you? It’s one thing to feel the perversions you do. But to refuse to repent, to revel in them? Brendon I wish I could say I expected better from you but I never have. You’re worthless.”

Alex’s arm shoots out and shoves Kevin into the lockers. The move is with enough force that his head makes a loud cracking sound on the metal. Kevin’s hand moves up to cup his skull, and tears of pain are leaking from his eyes. Alex smiles pleasantly at the sight, then replies “and you’re clumsy, apparently. We all learned something about personality traits today. How interesting!”

Kevin eyes Alex almost like a fish would eye a shark, and darts down the hallway, arm still raised to his head. Brendon shouldn’t be happy about violence, even moving beyond Mormon values violence is never a good thing. Still, there’s no hiding that his main feeling is gratitude. Alex made Kevin shut up, and Brendon can’t make himself care about method.

***

Knowing how the family works, how Mr and Mrs Way are, it shouldn’t be a surprise that they don’t monitor their children’s internet usage. It is, freedom still isn’t something he’s come to expect or demand yet. It takes a roll of Mikey’s eyes and Elena’s snort to believe that they’re telling the truth. Not that he’ll ever admit to it if someone asks, but the first place his mind goes to is pornography. If there are no parental controls, he finally has the opportunity to Google things he’s never been able to before. He just has to take it before it’s somehow retracted.

At least, that’s the plan. Google Images quickly puts a damper in most of his search terms. There are places where human tongues go, and places where they definitely do not.

***

Either Pete doesn’t have a Friday morning class, or he doesn’t care about the information it’s trying to impart. Whatever the case, he comes in at five after nine, two coffees straddling one hand, a Slurpee in the other. Brendon takes the frozen sugary goodness with a thank you and sucks hard on the green straw. It’s a mixed fill, grape and blue raspberry, a sign that Pete knows him pretty well. After seventeen years without it, caffeine still has a strong affect on him. Coke Slurpees make him too hyper, the fruity ones are better.

Aborted search or not, Brendon’s still curious. He watches as Mikey plucks the Seven Eleven coffees from Pete’s hand and leans in for a kiss. If this is what he's going to do one day, then he should probably know more about it. He was never allowed to sit in during sexual education at school, he had to show his teacher a note from his parents then go sit in the library until another student was dispatched to get him. The internet was a bust, leaving him only with active questioning. His circle of peers is Alex, Mikey, Pete, and Gerard. Alex is great, but also straight and won’t be able to help him. Gerard is on the other side of the spectrum; he’ll have far too much to say. And Mikey will probably answer in short sentences and smirks.

So he waits until they separate, and stands beside Pete. He knows bright red and staring doesn’t give off the best impression, but he can’t quite make the words come out. Finally Pete tilts his head a bit and asks “are you going to, like, fucking swoon or something?”

“Whatsgaysexlike?” comes out a bit faster than he had intended, but embarrassment tends to make him speed up.

Pete looks at him for a minute. He's been leering and making sexual jokes at the Ways since Sunday, saying he's trying to desensitize him. But Pete's not looking at him predatorily at all now, he doesn’t even have the look of victory in his eyes. He's totally calm and entirely nice sounding when he asks "do you want me to show you? Not here, obviously. In a bed, and we could watch a movie too, after?”

That was not what he asked. That was nowhere near what he asked! He shakes his head vigorously, a stream of ‘no no no’ pouring out his mouth.

Pete puts a hand on either cheek, forcing him to still his face. “Chill out. Your glasses come off and Chomper will eat them, and then he'll have glass in his stomach and they'll have to do something shitty like put him down.”

With Pete’s help Brendon stops shaking his head, but he can’t stop trembling. That wasn’t what he asked, and the idea is overwhelming.

“Okay, you don't want to have sex, that’s okay. But you want to know. I'm gonna advise you don't watch porn, most of that stuff is just for getting off to, not learning shit from. Do you want to, like, watch me and Mikey?”

It would be an exaggeration to call him hysterical. Hysterical means maniacal laughter and rocking back and forth or fainting, none of which Brendon is doing. That he can’t regulate his volume at all shouldn’t count. “Don’t you think you should ask Mikey first!”

Pete shrugs and pulls his phone out of his pocket. He starts to text, presumably to Mikey. “Are you _serious_? He's outside having a smoke. He's literally ten feet away!”

Mikey comes inside and Brendon’s expecting- Well, he doesn’t know. Most people would be furious, but Mikey was the reason that last time happened. What he’s not expecting is for Mikey to just sail on by them, and go into the cat section. Pete’s phone vibrates a minute later and after reading it he says “Mikey says cool.”

It’s possible Brendon can see the point one of the priests at church was trying to make about technology being a tool of Satan.

When he doesn’t immediately answer, Pete speaks again. “Well, if you want to, it's cool. If you don't, no one's forcing you.”

“Oh, like you weren't forcing me the other day?”

“Dude? Really? I thought you liked it.”

From the expression on Pete’s face, and the tone, it’s obvious he never even considered that Brendon might not have wanted a handjob. And Brendon didn’t exactly say no, or want it to stop, just wanted to want it to stop. But he can’t explain that to Pete, he won’t understand, just go off on another rant about parents stuffing you full of fake ideals. “I don't want to talk about this anymore. Never mind.”

***

Even though he doesn’t really understand the point of the stories, Brendon waits until Mikey stands before putting the book back on the shelf. At twenty after four they’re the only ones in the library, aside from Mr Zylack, the aide having gone home at four. Brendon waves a goodbye as he walks out behind Mikey, a non-verbal thank you for the recommendation. Just because he didn’t like any of the stories in Tough Tough Toys for Tough Tough Boys doesn’t mean it wasn’t nice of the librarian to try and help.

Brendon doesn’t need to ask if Pete is here, it’s the only reason Mikey would be getting up. Sure enough, the navy Pinto is idling in front of the fire hydrant. He knows by now to get on the driver’s side of the back seat, the passenger side seat-belt doesn’t click in. It’s not that far of a drive, barely enough time for it to be worth it to mess with the radio. But as Mikey explained it, since the house is off route, waiting for the bus and then the transfer time for the second bus gets them home at around the same time that waiting nearly an hour for a ride does. This way, at least, they have time to study before Pete spends most of the evening over. Elena’s theory is his constant presence is a combination of love and a test to see if they can live together. Mikey’s going to the university Pete is, and Pete’s currently in a dorm room. If they can live together it’ll be easier for the both of them.

Yesterday Pete tried to show Mikey how to play Creep by Radiohead. The problem was he’s a fairly bad bass player, and it was only so long before Brendon had no choice but to step in. Today Mikey and Pete go straight upstairs, body language making it clear they’re about to have sex. Brendon sits on the living room couch and picks up the remote without turning the tv on. He knows their earlier offer should be insane, that he shouldn’t give it a moment’s thought. But the porn on the internet freaked him out, and if even Pete says it’s not good, than he can’t depend on that to learn. And it’s not like he could hire a streetwalker. Even if he knew where to find one, he could never go through with it. Their offer is sort of the best option available.

Going up the stairs is fairly easy. Opening the closed door takes more courage, and walking through the entrance even more. That done he has no idea what to do with himself. He ends up with his back pressed hard against the hollow door of Mikey’s closet, arms crossed tightly. The only acknowledgement that he’s there is a slight change in angle of their heads, so he can better see their kissing. They continue for a while, and Brendon can see himself doing this, enjoying this with some other boy. He _wants_ , not necessarily them, but the idea of it.

Eventually Pete crawls off Mikey, socked feet landing with a thud on the carpet. The socks are the first thing to come off as he gets naked, followed by his shirt, then jeans and underwear in one swoop. Mikey’s just laying there, watching his boyfriend. It doesn’t make sense to Brendon, surely nakedness is a two person event? His question gets answered sooner rather than later. Pete climbs back onto the bed, hand stroking his dick a few times before he focuses and starts stripping Mikey. It’s hard to tell who enjoys it more, they’re both hard by the time Pete is done.

It almost looks like they're wrestling. Mikey's legs are curled around Pete's back, and both of them heaving at each other. But this isn't wrestling, and Brendon can't take it anymore. He bolts, not even taking the time to slam the door behind him. He could leave the house, take a calming walk or run to the elementary school and swing until he can’t feel his knees anymore. Instead goes to the safe place that is Gerard's hovel of a bedroom. Even with the man gone for days the room still smells like smoke and paint thinner. It’s soothing.

When the house phone rings, Brendon ignores it, pulling the pilled blanket up higher. It takes five rings for him to break. Mikey obviously isn’t going to get it, and it could be Mr or Mrs Way saying they’re stuck in traffic and start dinner yourself, or that they’re working overtime. Or it could be Elena with a broken hip, needing someone to run the block to her house and help her wait for emergency services. The phone has to be answered, just in case.

It’s not. It’s Gerard, voice nasally and distant over shitty cell phone service. He doesn’t bother with pleasantries, just gets to the heart of the reason he called. “So. Mikey says you're being really confusing, and they want to know if they should be waiting for you or not.”

“Seriously, what is it with you all? Weren’t you freaked out your first time?” It’s not like he doesn’t understand they’re trying to help him. It’s just it’s really more of a big deal than anyone he’s met recently seems to understand.

“But Pete and Mikey having sex isn't technically your first time.”

Of course he shouldn't be surprised that Mikey told him the details. If he cared enough to call him in the first place, of course he was going to tell Gerard everything.

Gerard sighs to break the tinny silence, and adds “would it help if I told them to call the house, and had them put the phone on the pillow so you could hear them but not watch? You know, go it one sense at a time? Or maybe just back off and first try to jerk off a few times and then-”

If he doesn’t say something Gerard is going to talk alternatives forever. “I dunno. I just. This is just really difficult.”

“Well, you sorta have to decide, you know? Like are your religion and your parents right even though they kicked you out and don't respect you? And you shouldn't be doing any of this? Or are people like me and Mikey and Pete right, just wanting to love and take care of each other and be happy? I mean, I can't make that decision for you. Shit, you take it back fast enough with enough regret they'll probably even let you move back in. Not that I'm trying to kick you out. I'm pretty sure you're grandma's favourite right now. But you need to decide what’s right for you, and fucking forge on with it, whatever it is, instead of being wishy-washy.”

Oddly enough, that's what gets him. Not the whole of the speech that's ridiculously peer pressurey even if Gerard doesn't realise it and isn't trying to be pressuring. It’s that Mikey and Gerard's grandma likes him the way he is. He's never, ever, been approved of by any of his grandparents, or by the elders of the church.

“Thanks.”

“So you’re going to-”

“Go back upstairs.”

“Embracing yourself instead of letting those asshats get to you. Good job Brendon, I’m really proud right now.”

He’s pretty sure if Gerard was here right now, he’d either get a hug, or witness Gerard doing victory arms. But he’s not, and that leaves Brendon to gather his courage and go back to Mikey’s bedroom. Mikey and Pete are curled into each other on top of the blankets, expanses of skin pressed together. They’re making out, not passionately, just comfortable with each other. Brendon can’t quite feel that, but he can try, and the first step is setting boundaries. “I'm not getting naked.”

They pull apart an inch to answer him. “No one asked you to.”

“And I'm not jerking off.” It's the first time he's used the phrase, and it doesn’t feel nearly as taboo and offensive spilling from his lips as he thought it would.

“No one asked you to.”

Brendon stands and watches as Pete darts his hand between and up after Mikey curls one leg around Pete's back again. Mikey lets out a low groan, which only serves to encourage Pete. They look happy. Not caught in a religious ecstasy, but finding joy with each other. Not passionate while talking about how everyone else that doesn't believe what they believe will suffer in the end, but passionate about their love. Brendon’s confident in saying the latters both sound better than the formers. It’s an opinion that outcasts him from his family, but the world of outcasts is slowly revealing itself to be more rich and open than he’d ever thought possible.

***

At the commercial, Pete mutes the tv. The insisted upon silence is a bit fussy, but better than someone that channel hops every three seconds, so there’s a house wide agreement to just let Pete have the remote when he’s over. He sits up, hair staticky and attempting to cling to Mikey, and looks over at Brendon. “By the power vested in me as your adoptive brother’s boyfriend I’ve set you up on a blind date.”

“What?” It’s completely out of nowhere, there isn’t any newly dating couple on the sci-fi show they’re watching. Stargate something, Brendon thinks.

“Don’t worry, Mikey’s approved him.”

A gay date. “I’m not wearing leather pants.”

“What the fuck? Sometimes I seriously wonder what’s wrong with your brain. Of course you’re not. You don’t have to change at all, just put on more deodorant.”

“I guess you could shower, or something. If you wanted.” Mikey says it in the tone of someone that finds showers entirely unnecessary, and knowing that Mikey’s hair sometimes gets three shades darker with oil before he washes it lends credit to the interpretation.

“Wait.” They’re both giving suspiciously immediate advice. “When is this date, exactly?”

“What time is it now?”

Brendon can’t really see Mikey’s face from where he’s sitting, but it’s pretty clear he’s rolling his eyes when he answers. “Check the weather channel. Though Carson is operating on the tumour, so I’d say ten to?”

“So about ten minutes.”

“What!”

“What? Like we were going to give you time to get worried, or bitch out.”

He strongly objects to the phrasing of that, but it’s not the time to argue that battle. He’s got ten minutes until someone is here, semantics will have to wait. “Look guys, I don’t know.”

Pete sighs. “I knew we shouldn’t have told him.”

Strangely, Mikey is the more patient one. “Why not?”

“The last time I had a date it went bad.”

“Really.”

“Bad!” he affirms.

“How about you clarify.”

“She kissed me and I realised I was gay and got kicked out,” Brendon answers flatly. It’s not like he’s hallucinating or over-exaggerating the badness, it happened.

“Well, that’s sort of a one time event. The Ways are hardly religious douchebags-” Pete wheezes a bit as Mikey slaps him in the chest, “er, I mean the Ways are hardly going to kick you out.”

“Well, who is it?”

“I don’t believe in spoilers. I don’t want to know which red-shirt dies, and I’m not going to tell you who your date is. He’s awesome, that’s all you need to know.” It’s nice that Pete’s feeling so confident, but Brendon doesn’t feel nearly the same. He can understand those from the church group that group dated a lot more now, surely this would be easier if Mikey and Pete were with him.

The doorbell rings, and when Brendon tenses at the sound Pete jams his hand between the couch and his back. He shoves him until it’s stand up or topple to the floor. Brendon picks the first, and manages to get as far as the front door before his nerves conk out again and Mikey has to open it for him.

On the front step is a familiar face. “Hi Brendon. I didn’t know you lived with Mikey. Sort of thought I’d be going on a date with Gerard.”

“Hi Saporta,” he answers. He doesn’t know why he sounds so stiff, his worries should be alleviated right now. Saporta was nothing but nice the morning after, and aside from Alex’s complaints about Saporta and Navarro he’s heard only good things about him.

“You can call me Gabe.” He grins, and Brendon’s first thought is that Saporta is pretty hot, and his second is confusion at not being horrified or guilty about his first thought. Gerard would probably think he was making progress.

Still, if he wants him to call him things other than his name, that’s probably a bad sign. “What?”

“You do know my name is Gabe, right? Alex is the only one that calls me by my last name. How could you think Saporta was my first name?”

Oh no, _he’s_ not the crazy one. Brendon crosses his arms and raises his eyebrows as he reminds him “your close friends are Ryland, Leighton, and Z.”

“Point.” He shoves his hands into his pockets, then asks “can I come in? Can I ask you that, or do I need to ask Mikey?”

The floor creaks as behind Brendon Mikey shifts his weight from one foot to the other. “Ask him, he lives here. His parents are jerkoffs.”

This time it’s Gabe cocking his eyebrows. “Worse than Pete’s?”

“At least equal.” Gabe looks impressed, in a bad way. Brendon only has a brief moment to wonder if he’ll ever find out what Pete’s parents did before Gabe is sidling his way into the house.

“So how’d you guys meet? Through Alex?”

“No. He volunteers with me at Paws.”

“Cool. I’ve gotten good shit there.”

Brendon’s never heard anyone refer to pets as shit, but at least it’s a conversation starter. “How many dogs do you have?”

“Huh?”

“Or cats? Did you get cats there?”

“I have, like, no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Uh. You said you got good things, but you didn’t say what kind of animal?” He didn’t think that misunderstandings would come so early in the date. It doesn’t bode well.

“I meant I got good drugs there.”

Brendon turns to Mikey, utterly confused. Mikey shrugs. “It’s a front for a dealer. Mostly coke, some shrooms and E.”

“What? And you knew?”

“Dude, you _didn’t_ know? Mr A Sinthe? As in Absinthe? Like, the best alcohol in the world, the kind that makes you trip balls?”

“Give him a break, he’s an ex-Mormon.”

No one’s said that before, and makes a whole host of uncomfortable thoughts rise in his brain so he shakes it off and goes back to the topic at hand. “You knew there was crime and you stayed?”

“Drug dealer cover pets need affection too. Besides there’s no dog fighting or anything that hurts the animals. I would have called that shit in in a second.” Brendon’s got a little over four months of memories of Mikey with cats, he has no doubt that that’s true. “Sometimes I bought, if he wasn’t trying to rip me off. He’s not a bad guy, just a dealer. You never guessed?”

“No!”

“Not even about all the illegal practices?”

Pete interrupts before Brendon can start emphatically denying any knowledge. “This conversation is going nowhere! I’ll set the scene for you; Gabe is taking Brendon on a date. And there may be cuddles and or kissing, no third base. And action!”

Gabe grins at Brendon, causing a flare of heat that disappears almost before it shows up. “That’s Pete’s incredibly subtle way of saying we should go have some fun. I thought bowling?”

Bowling requires more conversation than a movie, but less on the spot witty banter. His brain is going strangely mushy right now, so a lack of need for quips is probably a good thing. “Sounds good.”

The first game goes pretty well. Brendon wins by fifteen, Gabe declares a rematch with a faked look of thirst for revenge. When Brendon suggests a bathroom break first, Gabe shakes his head and asks what he wants from the concession. They settle on nachos and grape Slurpees, or whatever the house brand of flavoured ice is called.

It’s walking back to lane three that he sees it. It’s impossible to miss. Mason and Elizabeth are in lane five, both the picture perfect image of newlyweds. They’re even wearing complimentary colours, white capris and a cyan polo shirt against tan slacks and a teal shirt. Brendon can’t look away, can’t stop staring at all the things he can never have.

“People gazing? That shit’s more interesting on shrooms, but I can be accommodating,” Gabe says around a mouthful of tortilla chip. “Let’s play. Obviously the perfect American standard, repressed and a few years away from being stuck and miserable.”

“He’s my brother.” Brendon answers quietly. He can barely hear himself over the radio pumping over the sound system, and the balls crashing into pins.

“Oh, shit. Sorry. Let’s play a doubles game.”

“They won’t want to.”

“Why not? They’re only just starting.”

“They can’t. Gabe, just leave it.”

“Are they in on your parents bullshit?” Gabe washes back the chips then slams the Slurpee he’s drinking onto the table and storms past the two lanes between them. Brendon follows close on his heels. Not because he wants to witness whatever is about to happen. He doesn’t, Gabe obviously knows Alex and Pete and even Gerard, there’s no doubt that he’ll be good at making a scene. But with any luck he can stop this from spiralling into the worst case scenario.

It starts pleasantly enough. Gabe smiles a wholesome smile, and introduces himself. For the picture he’s creating, he might have done better at the reception than Alex did. “Hi. I’m Gabe. Me and Brendon wanted to play doubles with you.”

Mason answers, taking a step forward to half cover Elizabeth. “We can’t.”

“I told you,” Brendon tells Gabe. Maybe this can still be snipped in the bud.

“Why not? We’re two young couples in love-” He’s not sure if Gabe sees it, but Brendon can’t miss how they both cringe, “doubles is a perfect solution.”

“Gabe, we already paid for our lane,” he reminds desperately.

“But this way is more fun,” he answers, edge starting to show in his voice.

Elizabeth takes a step to the side to reveal herself from behind Mason. She speaks loudly and haughtily. “The family is above sinners.”

“Oh. You mean _fags_. It’s really not that bad.”

Before Brendon has a chance to react, Gabe starts forward and kisses Mason. It’s not surprise Mason clocks him, it’s what Packer would want, and Mason’s always been a good disciple. It is when Gabe hits him back, hard enough from Mason to crumple to the floor. Gabe stares at Mason for a second then turns to Elizabeth. “The prophet approve of violence? Or is your husband going to be in hell now, with the rest of us cocksuckers?”

The facts are the current president of the church actually recommends protecting yourself from immorality and homosexuality by whatever means necessary. Brendon knows better than to say that though, and Elizabeth seems too shocked to say anything.

“I’m going to go out on a limb and say we’re kicked out now. We should probably go before the manager comes out.” Gabe grins and pulls Brendon through the building behind him.

They don’t talk again until Gabe’s parked in front of the house, making it the second awkward drive in two dates. “Shortest date ever, huh. Sorry about that, but we can hope for better company next time, right?”

Brendon doesn’t know how to answer that, so he doesn’t. He climbs out of the car, and Gabe’s door slams a fraction of a second after his. “I’m not expecting a kiss or anything. I’m just coming in to get ice. If my face starts swelling my mom’s going to kick my ass, and she’ll be a lot better at it than he was.”

While Brendon takes his time untying his shoes, Gabe barges straight into the kitchen. There’s a slam of the freezer door powering into the wall, and a following one a moment later as Gabe shouts “what kind of people don’t have ice cubes?”

He strides back into the front of the house, tossing at glare at Mikey before saying “looks like I’m going home. Call me later Brendon, Mikey will have my number. I really want to try this again.”

It’s not like he didn’t know it was going to happen eventually. But it still hurts. He ignores Mikey asking what happened and goes to the basement. Mikey doesn’t follow him, and he supposes he should be happy that judging by the missing Pinto Pete’s gone home. Pete would have followed him. He takes off his jeans and pulls on an oversized hoodie and crawls under the blankets. Soft things help, a little. Not enough. The fun of the first twenty minutes have nothing on the pain of knowing they hate him.

He hears the phone ring, but there’s nothing in the world that could make him care enough to get up and answer it. Mikey has it after one ring anyway. The silence only lasts a minute before Mikey’s opening the bedroom door and holding out the cordless for him. “Phone’s for you.”

After he takes it, Mikey closes the door and leaves him, granting him privacy. Brendon puts it to his ear, half expecting it to be his mother, yelling at him. “Hey.” Of course it isn’t. Yelling is too much consideration for the likes of him. “Mikey said that Gabe said that your family were tools, and based on toolish description Alex thinks it was Mason.”

“Mikey and his freakin’ texting.”

“Yeah, well, that’s what our brother is like.”

Gerard lets him stay silent without trying to prompt him, the glowing red numbers cycling without a hint of impatience, nothing more than light breathing in his ear. Eventually the words come out anyway. “I’ve always changed for them. Always. And the first time I can’t-”

“They totally desert you. That’s not real family Brendon, you have to know that. Real family doesn’t abandon someone for not being perfect.”

Brendon’s looking at his knees and the shadow his propped elbow casts, so he doesn’t notice Pete until he’s jiggling the bed. Pete puts an arm around his shoulder, a move which Brendon recognises is probably as close to a hug as he’ll ever get from Pete. But then he insistently tugs until Brendon is leaning over. A few more pushes and his head is in Pete’s lap. Pete’s hand strokes his upper arm as Gerard rants into his ear, and then the bed almost tips with the sudden weight of Mikey. Brendon can’t remember a single time there was a puppy pile in his house. His old house, this is his house now. And maybe that’s a good thing.


End file.
